A Most Unexpected Journey Indeed
by taokiomi93
Summary: Firiel-May Brandybuck, the oldest daughter of Bilbo's much older sister, Myrtle, has always longed to get out from under the thumb of her controlling parents. Upon being thrust into an arranged engagement, Firiel fled her home in Bree to stay with her dearest uncle, and finds herself getting more than she bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Hi guys. Thank you so much for reading this. It's more of a pilot than anything. I haven't written any fanfiction since I was 15, but inspiration seemed to strike recently and I started up again. I'm just posting a test chapter, and based on how well it does, I may continue to post more. This is being written more for my own amusement than anything else, so it's up to you guys whether or not you want to keep reading more. I must warn you though: I'm rather long-winded. Also, I apologize, as I had really no idea how to start this. I'll probably edit in a better start later. Please enjoy. :)

* * *

Bilbo Baggins peered curiously out the window by the round front door of his cozy hobbit hole. Having just had a rather interesting, and unsettling encounter, Bilbo was so intent on making sure his earlier conversation partner had left him that he was not aware of the presence behind him.

"Uncle, what are you doing?"

"Oh!"

Bilbo nearly leapt through the ceiling, knocking over the bin of finely made umbrellas by the round door. He reeled on the owner of that voice with a well-practiced "serious face".

"Firiel-May Brandybuck," he admonished her, "You nearly caused me to have a heart attack!"

It was hardly difficult for anyone who looked to see the relation between Bilbo Baggins and Firiel-May Brandybuck. The child of Bilbo's much older sister, Myrtle Baggins-Brandybuck, Firiel was often joked to be his child rather than his sister's. As much as this was thankfully untrue (not to say Bilbo did not love her as his own, for he loved her quite dearly), Bilbo could easily see why such jokes were made.

The two hobbits were most similar in colouring, only shades apart due to Firiel's fierce love for the light of the sun and the fresh green of their equally beloved Shire. Even their eyes were the same colour; an outwardly dark mixture of blue, grey and green much in likeness to the Brandywine river. There were, of course, some fairly obvious differences between the two.

Firiel stood very near to Bilbo in height. So close in fact that there could not have been more than an inch between them. While Bilbo had a rounder face and a long, sort of fattish nose, Firiel had ever so slightly sharper yet feminine features, with a squared but soft jaw and a somewhat large, straight, pointed nose. Her fine, messy curls grew down past her shoulder blades, with side-sweeping layers of waves and curls. Her mouth was small, and her soft lips a rather typical shade of cool pink. Her eyes, coloured like lake water, were often described as the most beautiful thing about her. Though their colour matched Bilbo's at first glance, closer examination revealed a golden brown ring surrounding each pupil, like a small island surrounded by a rush-bottomed deep. Many a conversation partner had become lost in them, examining their colours and the pure, open, honest emotions they conveyed through long lashes.

Her body curved like the river as well. She was not round-bellied like most hobbits, but had a small waist and broad yet thin shoulders. Between those two points lay her soft, plump bosom. Her well-defined waist fanned gracefully into wide, long hips, which then became large muscular thighs, down to toned, curving calves and graceful ankles. Her little pointed ears and large, fuzzy feet made her so obviously a hobbit, completing that interesting little picture of a woman.

"My apologies, Uncle Bilbo," Firiel laughed, "But you were behaving rather oddly.

"Though I do suppose that shouldn't really cause me any concern," she added, a mischievous twinkle alighting her entire being.

Bilbo had almost forgotten that his younger niece from Bree was his houseguest at the moment. She had been for nearly several weeks now; most of the confections that stocked Bag-End's great pantry had been made by her tiny, delicate hands. Her stay with her uncle was more than just a friendly visit to keep the family's eternal bachelor company though.

At age of only 27, Firiel had yet to come of age for another 6 years, but she was nearly on the verge of being unceremoniously thrust into adulthood. Despite her lacking in years, her parents, brother and sister-in-law to the current Master of Buckland, had decided it would be beneficial to the entirety of Hobbit-dom if Firiel were to be married to a young merchant in Bree. Her father was of the same profession, and had met the young man while trading for some dwarfish tools to sell to local farmers at ridiculous prices. The young man had mentioned he was in the market for a wife, and Firiel's father had sold her like common cattle. Though it was often thought that hobbits had no need for gold and overwhelmingly rich possessions, there were a great number of exceptions to that rule.

To make matters worse for the young she-hobbit, her mother hadn't said a word against it. She said it would finally make her little Firiel "grow up". She was excited. Her siblings and other relatives were all very much in the same mindset. It would be "good for securing the family" and "an excellent connection to have".

Firiel didn't care. She didn't want this. She was still so young; she had so many plans in life. She was going to get out of hobbit country, explore the world. But, unfortunately, she had little more to her name than the clothes on her back and her person.

That is where Bilbo came in.

Firiel knew very well that her mother's younger brother was and always had been a bachelor. She knew that, if anyone could or would understand her utter aversion to the idea of marriage, much less an arranged one, it would be her beloved Uncle Bilbo. Though, she had faced some uncertainty. Bilbo rarely interacted with the rest of the family, and preferred to keep to himself in his ancestral home. But there was nothing else that she could possibly do; she had no choice, and she knew it. So she had written to him, and, much to her surprise, he had answered her with an invitation.

She could stay with him for as long as she liked, provided that she earned her keep. This little condition had recently become not a bit of trouble with her newly acquired job at The Green Dragon Inn.

The very thought had driven her mother mad, and, while her uncle pretended otherwise, he was clearly enjoying the trouble he was stirring up amongst his sister's family. Firiel would often spy the jolly old grin he gave at her mother's rather angry letters which demanded that he not so kindly butt out and send Firiel home.

"Oh, very funny; most amusing indeed," Bilbo sighed with a rather serious look on his face, "So, what is it that we shall be having for first lunch? I presume you are working tonight?"

Firiel gave another little chuckle, "You are having stew and biscuits. I figured you'd want something with a little weight since I'm working in the afternoon today. I'll be home long before dark."

"Excellent," Bilbo grinned brightly at the knowledge, though quickly schooled his features, "We'll be having some of that fish you caught the other day."

Though Bilbo would sooner die than admit it, he had slowly become accustomed to the bright light that was his spirited niece. She was a fun, optimistic, quirky creature, and he felt a sort of platonic attachment towards her. Needless to say, he was becoming a little more affectionate and, dare he say it, _parental_ than he was used to.

"And speaking of food," he said, "I best be off to eat what you've made for me."

"Sounds lovely," Firiel nodded, not missing her uncle's poor attempt to seem nonchalant, "I'll see you later then."

"Have fun," Bilbo wished her absently as he set off towards the kitchen with a great hurry.

Firiel-May gave another little smile before she rushed out into the bright day.

It was indeed the loveliest of late mornings and Firiel decided that a bit of running would do her heart and mind some good. The community of Hobbiton lay at the heart of the Shire, and it was a place of classic values and country-side beauty. The Hill, an older part of the settlement, was where Firiel and Bilbo lived. Bag-End was placed neatly along this very hill, which bore the outward fronts of hobbit holes that peeked out beneath the grass. Once Firiel reached the bottom, she turned back to catch a glimpse of the yellow front of her rather new home. Going to stay at Bag-End had been her first adventure, and one she had sorely needed and loved. Though, her little "rebellion" had done nothing to quench her thirst for more.

"No great kingdom was built in a day," she sighed to herself

Firiel quickly turned again and headed off towards the bridge.

* * *

The Green Dragon Inn was a rather bustling place at any time of day, though it was unusually quiet this particular afternoon. Right over in Bywater, another little community not far from Hobbiton, it was a rather lovely place, with high round ceilings and oak-wood everything, as well as plenty of food and drink for any troubled soul. Not many guests came to stay in the Shire without family in the area, so it was really the pub that kept that little place afloat most nights.

"Good afternoon, Miss Firiel," young Arthur Cotton greeted her from a stool at the bar, "Papa said to tell you he'll be out in the back garden if you need him this afternoon."

"Afternoon, Arthur," she replied with a grin, ruffling the young lad's brandy-coloured curls, "Thank you for passing that along. What brings you in here today?"

Arthur was just a little boy, one of the many children of the Cotton family. His father Percival, Percy for short, was the Green Dragon's owner, who had heard Firiel's tale and taken kindly to her, giving her a job and a stable wage. Out of all Percy's children, little Arthur was there with him the most often. Firiel had a soft spot for the little boy; he was sweet as sugar and freckle-faced from the sunshine. Her secret wish was to someday have a sweet little boy like that. And at least two little girls to love and cherish just as much. Though it did not really matter which they were; she knew she would love them equal just the same.

"Papa said there were _dwarves_ here last night," Arthur exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement, "I've been here since this morning waiting to see them!"

"Dwarves?" Firiel quirked a brow, "Why on Middle Earth would your papa tell you there are dwarves in the Shire?"

"Why not?" Arthur asked in return, "Papa said that they're bigger and hairier than any hobbit he's ever seen!"

"Arthur, darling," Firiel moved around the bar to face him, "Why on Earth would they come to the Shire? We have no dwarves here for them to live amongst, no riches or mountains to mine. All that lies west of here are Elves, baron peeks, and the sea. What would bring them here?"

"That's what I want to ask them," the boy explained, an exasperated sort of look on his sweet face, "They told Papa they were looking for someone. Papa said it could be wives, which doesn't make sense since Mr. Gamwich says they're born out of mountain rocks."

"Yes, well, Mr. Gamwich drinks his own weight in ail every evening," Firiel gave the boy an impish grin, working to tidy up the bar for the day, "And besides-."

Before Firiel could continue, she heard the distinct sound of feminine giggles. It was quickly followed by the sound of obnoxiously heavy footstep, followed by some deep, less than distinguished chortles. There sounded to be about four of them, and they were slowly and flirtatiously making their way towards the pub. She recognized the two women right away, and was thankful for the both of them that their father was nowhere in sight.

"Whatever helps old Percy sleep at night," Firiel smirked to herself.

Just as she had predicted, from around the corridor came Percival's two oldest daughters, Petunia and Marigold. The two girls were both quite beautiful, and locally grown, so there was often a great amount of evening competition for even their attention, though the greatest prize was often seen as taken them to bed. Firiel didn't judge them; the two were using what nature gave them to their great advantage. Their tips were twice that of most of the barmaids, and even still, they were able to enjoy a good midnight tango every once in a while. Firiel was somewhat jealous of them; they seemed free. They were very sweet girls, though their father and older brothers did not often seem to see it as such.

"Good morning girls," she greeted them, smiling down at the glass mug she was wiping clean.

"Morning Firiel," Petunia greeted her with a joyful and adorably crooked smile.

"What a good morning it is," Marigold gave a Cheshire cat grin, jerking her head back to motion behind her.

"I can only imagine," Firiel chuckled, "So where are your new friends? I could have sworn I heard them coming."

"Oh, they forgot something in their rooms. They'll be out soon," Petunia leaned on the bar next to her younger brother, "I take it our father is in the kitchen?"

"Back garden, so your escape should be easier than usual," Firiel smiled, "So, Arthur tells me that your midnight partners were dwarves."

The two girls looked at each other, and it was only a moment before Petunia adopted Marigold's mischievous expression.

"Yes. And?"

Firiel gazed upon the grinning girls skeptically.

"Dwarves?"

"Yes."

"In the Shire?"

"Yes."

"In the inn?"

"Of course."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

Firiel could hardly contain her excitement. She thought her eyes were about to burst from her skull and her heart hammer up her throat.

"Oh my-well what do they look like? How big are they?" she asked.

The sister exchanged another glance before raising their hands to indicate not height, but length.

"Gah! That's not what I meant," Firiel cried, placing her hands over Arthur's innocent, curious eyes, "I meant in terms of height, width, muscle. Are they really as hairy as a horse? I take it that they don't really grow out of stone then."

Petunia and Marigold laughed like tricksters. Clearly, they were absolutely amused.

"They're huge," Petunia told her, "They're probably even taller than Grand Old Took."

"And their muscles," Marigold chimed in, "They're not as hairy as you might imagine, but my God-."

"They are just sheer man, from head to toe," Petunia finished, "Try to contain all your sexual frustration when you see them."

"Petunia," Firiel scolded her, motioning her head towards Arthur, who now had his ears covered instead of his eyes.

"You're such a mum," Marigold rolled her eyes, "He'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Children are precious," Firiel stated plainly, removing her hands from the young boy's head, "Arthur here is no exception."

"Am I really?" Arthur asked her with great excitement.

"Yes, most definitely," she smiled.

"Whatever," Petunia chuckled, "I wonder what's taking those two so long."

"Our apologies, M'Lady," came a deep, rich voice from just out of eyeshot, "We didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Firiel turned to face the owner and by the Gods, those two were right. About everything. Arthur sat in his seat, stunned into a slack-jawed stare. The two men she saw before her were most definitely dwarves. They were tall, muscle-bound, hairy, bearded, and very handsome. The slightly shorter of the two was obviously the older, with much more hair and a greater beard. His eyes were light and his thick, braided hair was the colour of golden wheat. The younger man was even more handsome, with dark eyes, and thinner hair and a very short beard that were both black as ebony. They were like day and night. The two men carried weapons and travelling packs; they were clearly ready to go.

"Oh, that's alright," Marigold pouted, "Are you leaving so soon?"

"Oh, not yet," the younger one replied, pulling Marigold into his arms, "We thought we would enjoy a bit of lunch with you two first."

He played with one of her dark brown curls, flashing her a dazzling smile followed by a quick kiss.

_Flirts_, Firiel thought plainly to herself, casting a glance at the blonde dwarf.

The older of the two at least appeared to have enough sense of decorum not to be so grabby as his friend. Petunia seemed a little put off by that fact, which made Firiel smile a little. Poor Petunia.

"And who is this?"

There was silence at first. Firiel looked up from wiping down the bar. She had assumed they had been talking to Arthur, but it was not Arthur who was being looked at. The blond dwarf was watching her like a hawk. Firiel met his eyes, and she instantly knew what a mistake that had been. His eyes were consuming. If she was the river, this dwarf was the sky. Boundless and bright, his eyes reached as far as, if not farther than the heavens. Try as she might to do otherwise, she could only stare back at him.

"…That's Firiel," Petunia said slowly, at little perplexity in her tone, "Firiel-May. She's our newest employee; she only moved here last month."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss May," the dwarf broke the spell, bowing towards her, "I am Fili, and this is my brother, Kili."

"At your service," Kili smiled at her.

Firiel nodded, quickly composing herself.

"If it is a pleasure to meet me, then I'm sure it will most certainly be a pleasure to meet this little man," Firiel smiled down at Arthur, "He's been down here since this morning, waiting to catch a glimpse of these dwarves his father told him about."

It was then Arthur snapped back to attention, blushing so furiously Firiel was sure his head would explode. She giggled to herself when the boy shot her a look; he was so very not amused.

"Is that right, young man?" Fili turned to the young boy, bending down to his eye level, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well. My name is Fili."

"I…I'm Arthur," he replied, his smile slowly returning to him, "Is it true that you're born from rocks?"

Fili laughed, his eyes twinkling a little, "No my boy. We dwarves are born from our mothers."

"Oh," said Arthur, clearly a little disappointed.

"But," Fili continued, "Unlike your mother, my mother has a beard."

"Really?" Arthur cried in sheer amazement, looking back at Firiel brightly, "What are you doing in the Shire?"

"We're here to visit a friend," the dwarf replied, sending a smile to his brother, "For a top secret mission from our king."

"Wow," Arthur was in absolute awe, "That's so cool."

The brothers grinned, sharing another look before Fili stood straight. Firiel caught his glance shifting to her again, but did well to ignore the shivers he sent through her.

"So, I'm hungry," Kili stated plainly yet brightly, "I think your best soup and some ail would be a good place to start."

Firiel's wits fully returned to her at the mention of food. He had just placed an order. An order meant food, which had to be served by a waitress, to two men of a race rumoured to carry heavy amounts of gold on their persons and eat enough food to feed an army of hobbits. That could be a rather large tip.

"Arthur, my love," Firiel said to the boy, almost magically leaping to life, "Would you run out back and tell your father that our guests are hungry? Potato and trout stew to start."

"Absolutely," Arthur leapt off his stool and ran towards the back kitchen.

"Is that alright?" she asked no one in particular, though it was clearly Fili she addressed.

"Absolutely," Kili replied for the both of them, "What have you usually got for breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Firiel cried, "I should probably set you a table and give you some menus."

"It's alright," Kili smiled, "Just give us the stuff and we'll set it ourselves."

Firiel floundered a bit before replying, "Absolutely not! I am a waitress, and my job is to wait on you.

"Would you like to put me out of the job?" she teased, her person taking on a much lighter nature.

The two dwarves grinned at one another.

"Not at all," they replied in unison.

So Firiel set the table for the two brothers and the nearly forgotten Cotton sisters. She gave them their menus, and no less than five minutes later, the brothers had probably ordered everything on it. Back bacon, crisp bacon, ham, poached eggs, scrambled eggs, eggs benedict, sausage, breakfast steak; it was miraculous. Firiel was scribbling on her note pad like an absolute madwoman.

"…And, oh, we'd like to try the pancakes as well," Kili finished neatly, "Is that alright?"

Firiel paused to look at the utter mess that was her paper pad. She could barely read it; much less poor Percy.

"So, you two want everything on the breakfast menu except for the oatmeal and seasonal fruit platter with naught but ale to drink?" she clarified.

"That's right," the dwarves grinned at her.

"Oh, but, Firiel, Petunia and I want oatmeal and the season fruit," Marigold chimed, "And two cups of Earl Grey."

"Ok then," she said with a bemused half-grin, "We're back to the whole menu."

And the whole menu it was. Poor Percy was cooking and cursing up a storm in the back kitchen, with the dwarfish brother's heavy purses clearly on his mind. Every bit of food imaginable was doled out of the Green Dragon's pantry, which had yet to be restocked from the previous party they had started the night before.

"Good God, Percy," Firiel laughed a little when she came back to the kitchen from dropping of the last of it, "Just when I thought it wouldn't stop. Are they really going to eat it all?"

"Oh, that an'more," the middle-aged ginger replied, "Almost all the food that'd disappeared since you left yesterday morning was eaten by those two. They even bought drinks for every hobbit in the bar."

"Guess that means you can finally have that new wing for the inn you've been wanting," Firiel could feel the excitement radiating off her boss.

"Oh, that'll come in time, Lass," Percy smiled, lugging his cookware to the dishpans, "What an order like this really means is that I may be able to buy my June something pretty as she for our anniversary. We'll be married thirty years next week."

"Wow," Firiel awed, "That's so wonderful. I can't imagine being with someone for thirty minutes, much less thirty years."

After taking out their largest pitcher full of ale to the brothers' table, and telling them to give a great holler should they need anything more, Firiel headed back into the kitchen once more. She moved quickly to her boss's side, pulling up her sleeves and shooing him from the washing. He had worked hard enough today, and would only be allowed to rinse and set the dishes to dry.

"By the way," Percy's ever-knowing voice smiled, "I noticed that there were two very small bowls of oatmeal and fruit on that order. Would my girls happen to have stayed with our guests by any chance?"

"That is, quite frankly, none of our business," Firiel replied lightly, elbow deep in suds.

"Well, I suppose it isn't," he chuckled a bit, "You just remind those two that, if ever they're in trouble, they can always count on me."

There was silence between the two friends for a while. They could hear the laughter of the dwarves and aforementioned daughters just beyond the double doors of the Green Dragon's great kitchen. It was made to accommodate an entire army of hobbits when evenings came and the food and drink began to flow. Percy had put his entire heart and soul into expanding the place once he took over from his father, just as he did with his family.

"I may get angry with them for running off with whoever they please, but it's more out of love than anything," he admitted softly as he rinsed the bacon pan, "I worry that they'll never find the right men for them if they continue to chase the wrong ones."

"If they're anything like their father, they are wise and strong enough to sort that out for themselves," Firiel assured him with a tiny smile.

"Speaking of men," Percy made an abrupt left turn in the conversation, "Do you ever think you might go back home to marry that man you told me about? The one your father picked out?"

Firiel was stunned by the question for a moment. She couldn't move; not even her hands dared to scrub another inch. Then, she resumed the task again, seemingly unshaken.

"No," she replied shortly, "Never."

Silence took hold again, but this one was bleaker, more agitated. Having been a husband for so long, Percy was not oblivious to it.

"I'm sorry," he said softly to her, "I know how you feel about that. And I full-well can't blame you either. I would feel the same. I was just wondering if your feelings had changed on the matter. Though it's better they haven't really. I honestly don't know what I'd do without all your help and hard work."

Firiel smiled. Percy was quite the gentle soul when it came right down to it.

"Not to worry, Percy," she reassured him, "I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I can't go home ever again after this, I don't think.

"And besides, I fear my poor uncle would surely die of boredom without me," she grinned cheekily, attempting to lighten both their spirits.

"No, I suppose your right," Percy chuckled in return, "You're good for that stubborn old naysayer anyways. My June always said he'd have made a good da."

"Yeah," Firiel sighed, "I think so too."

Once again the companionable silence returned, until suddenly Firiel realized that it was far too quiet in the dining room.

"Do you hear that?" she asked Percy.

"What?"

"Exactly."

No laughter came from the dining room, no sounds of eating (the brothers were rather loud scarffers). Not even a mouse dared to scurry over the floors. It made Firiel's chest and throat tighten nervously. Percy seemed to go very pale.

"Oh no," he mumbled, turning his eyes on the kitchen doors, "You don't suppose…?"

"No," Firiel said, though she quickly dropped her dishes and rushed towards the dining room.

She burst through the doors to find that her greatest fear had become a reality. For, with the exception of little tiny Arthur, who sat quietly at the bar drawing pictures of elves (at least his interpretation of elves) and dwarves, the whole dining area was empty. All that remained at that window-side table overlooking the river was a mountain of empty dishes and a tiny brown purse. She heard the kitchen doors swing open once again from behind her.

"Check the purse," Percy ordered, but Firiel was already gone to it.

As Percy gave his son gentle inquiries about the whereabouts of the four who had eaten, Firiel quickly dumped the purse onto a nearby, empty table. There were several gold coins inside, as well as a few jewels and a little note. _Please consider this purse payment for your services_, it read. Firiel snorted, throwing down the note in disgust.

"Well," Percy came up beside her, "According to Arthur, they waited until he had headed off to the bathroom, then all four of them must have taken off. Little fella was disappointed he didn't get to say goodbye, but he's fine otherwise. How much did they leave?"

"Enough to maybe cover the room and part of breakfast," Firiel sighed, "I hope they ponied up for last night already."

"That was going to be in their bill today," Percy paled once more, "We've been robbed. Cheated. Outwitted by a pair of greedy dwarves."

The little hobbit's shoulders rounded into a slouch, his eyes and expression downcast. This inn was his life, and provided for the livelihood of his family. It looked as though the weight of the world had just crashed down upon him.

"Let's try not to give up hope yet," Firiel put a little hand on his shoulder, attempting to cheer him up, "Petunia and Marigold are still with them, right? They may remember to remind them of the rest of the bill, or maybe they'll inquire about proper pay. For all we know, the brothers simply forgot about how much they owed."

Firiel knew it was a stretch, but it seemed to help Percy's funk a little. Her mind briefly turned to her own purse hidden under her skirts, filled with tips and pay, nearly enough to afford a pony for herself. It was a far-fetched dream of hers really, to have her own pony with which to ride about the countryside, but it was the first step towards that life of adventure she was working so hard to be able to afford. And she knew it would probably be just enough to cover the rest of what the dwarves owed poor Percy. It was an unfortunate crossroads that she wished would vanish.

"How about I run out and try to catch them?" Firiel suggested, "Chase them down and let them know it was short their actual total?"

"They came on ponies," Percy slumped down into a chair, "So I wouldn't bother. We'll have to leave our hopes with my girls. Hopefully, they actually have the thought pass through their heads. Just get those dishes cleaned up, and head home for the day. We'll have to close the kitchen now anyways."

Firiel bit her lip, but began gathering the dishes none the less. As she passed the miserable old man on her way to the kitchen, she stopped. A confounded tightness in her chest was preventing her from moving one step farther.

"…Curse my bleeding heart," she muttered, plopping the dishes down on the nearest table.

With as much discretion as she could muster, Firiel lifted up her outer skirt just enough to grab the purse that hung from her hips. It was rather heavy, which made Firiel's heart curse her mind for its selfishness. She didn't need all of this. Not when her dear friend and generous employer was so desperate at that moment. With his store so desolate for food, it would take him forever to earn back what he'd lost without her help. Percy lived from night to night, bill to bill. He was an honest man who never charged much more than he paid for the food. Just enough to feed his family and save a few pennies on the side.

"Here," she said, plopping it down in front of Percy, "You need this more than I do."

Percy's old, earthy eyes went wide as he picked up the purse, turning it over in his thick, furry fingers. He seemed as shocked by the weight as she had been.

"Firiel," he murmured, "I can't-."

"Save it and pick yourself up so you can get out to the market and restock before the evening comes," Firiel waved him off and picked up the dishes once more, "You'll have customers aplenty who'll be looking forward to your potato and haring soup."

She bustled back to the kitchen, hearing within moments a rather soft exclamation of multiple "thank you"s, followed by light, grateful sniffles. It hurt her a bit that she had just turned over all her savings, but what could she do? Besides, any bad feelings were greatly outweighed by the fact that the earlier tightness had now been replaced with light, happy, bubbly warmth.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Sorry this is so long. Had to get the plot going.

* * *

"Uncle," Firiel strode in to the hobbit hole, thoroughly exhausted, "I'm home."

Wiping the dirt off her lightly-haired feet, she plopped down on the front bench and slumped back against the wall. Within moments of her call, Bilbo had come pitter-pattering into the entryway. He must have seen her face, for he stopped short of reaching her, his expression immediately turning to one of concern.

"Firiel," he seemed puzzled, "Is everything alright?"

"Hm?"

Firiel looked up at her stout yet handsome uncle, giving him the best smile she could manage.

"Oh yes, everything is fine," she said, "I'm just tired is all. Busy day."

You could see on his slightly hardened features that he didn't quite believe her lie, but Bilbo let it slide. Who was he as a hobbit to question another's honesty?

"Alright then," he said, taking up the foot rag she had used from the front mat, "Would you like me to put super on? I've done nothing but laze about all day."

"Are you sure you're up for grilling that fish?" Firiel asked, her eyes dancing playfully, "Last time you tried, it burnt."

Bilbo turned red as his favourite jacket.

"Well, this time, I won't," he shot back stubbornly, turning on his heel, "And we're having broccoli, squash, and mashed potatoes too."

Firiel chuckled, calling an obnoxious "thank you" after the little man. Pulling herself off the bench, she headed towards her room. Uncle had given her an absolutely lovely little bedroom inside the old home. It was one of the few aside from the master's that actually had a window in it, which allowed the sun to shine through and light up the ornately patterned, very feminine down comforter. It was pink and lace-lined, with beautiful red roses and white dogwood flowers spinning about its quilt-like seams. Firiel felt warm every time she saw it. It had belonged to her grandmother, Bilbo had told her.

As she lay down on the plush bed, Firiel briefly considered changing straight into her nightgown. It was certainly more comfy than her work ensemble. The God-awful green bodice was surely going to be the death of her, and she could hardly wait to pull her curls off her shoulders. She didn't much care for styling her hair the way it was now, half up with stray curls hanging over her forehead and framing her face. She liked how it looked, which was always as beautiful as she thought it was, but she would think of her mother every time she did it, who would always demand her hair be in some sort of silly, overdone updo.

"You just look so beautiful," Myrtle would say after fiddling around with her hair for over an hour, "I don't know why you'd wear it any other way."

Firiel sure did. She liked having her hair all up and out of the way as much as the next she-hobbit, but she never cared for those fancy buns and ringlets she would always see on the other girls. She liked her hair simple and uncomplicated. Otherwise it was just too much bloody work. She didn't get bent out of shape if a single strand or so got loose and hung in her face. She knew she was beautiful, and she didn't need to mess that up with fancy hairstyles.

"Well, I guess that settles it," Firiel muttered to herself, sitting up to pull the little pins from her hair.

Once her hair was free of its pinned-up cage, she tied it back into a low ponytail with a simply strap. Pulling off her giant beige apron, she tossed it haphazardly on the small rocking chair in the far corner near the window. She then proceeded to struggle out of her patchwork patterned green bodice, tugging half the adjoining strings out of place. She would fix it in the morning. She stepped out of her brown shirt, and finally managed to pull her white blouse over her head. And there she stood, in nothing but her bloomers and loosely tied corset. Those were soon disposed of as well though. Her Uncle wouldn't care that she wasn't wearing it, if he even noticed. She'd wear her white housecoat to the dinner table anyways.

She went over to the wardrobe that lay against the wall in which the door was placed. Opening up its antique cupboard, she grabbed out her sleeveless blue nightgown. Like so many things the hobbits fashioned, this nightgown had a rather cute patterning to its cotton fabric, which was never ending trails of darker blue ivy leading down to the floor in this case. She tugged it on over her head and lay down in the bed once more, pulling a book off the nightstand.

If there was one thing Firiel loved, it was reading. What a great and fantastic thing it was, to read. Getting caught up in a world entirely different from your own, in the case of fiction and non-fiction, was the greatest escape of them all. At this particular moment, Firiel was reading a non-fiction novel she had pulled off the shelves in her Uncle's study. It was a book documenting the snippets of Elvish culture that one brave hobbit had once experiences. The book contained many old songs and stories that he had heard some parents sharing with their children in Rivendell, the Elves' capital city. There were silly, nonsensical songs, like one about a flower who desperately wanted the love of an Elf-maid, and there were these sorts of Elvish fables and wives tales. There was one about a King of Men whose greed destroyed his kingdom and killed his loved ones. One was a poem about a Daughter of Men, whom shared her very name, who was invited to go to the Undying Lands with a boat full of elves because she was so beautiful. There was one about a little child who wandered arrogantly into the woods and was attacked by Orcs, who ripped his flesh from his bones and devoured his good and innocent heart. That one made her shudder.

Oh yes, Firiel had definitely heard about Orcs. What she had not read about them, she'd heard of in stories told to her by her mother. All the children of Middle Earth must have known about Orcs, she had come to conclude through her studies. Misshapen, horrifying creatures with no set, agreed upon origins other than the pits of pure evil, Orcs were the stuff of nightmares. Goblins, while horrifying, were not nearly so fearsome. Orcs would destroy villages, rape, pillage, slaughter and decimate whole populations.

Firiel shuddered and moved one, thanking her lucky stars that no such creatures had been seen in the Shire since Grand Old Took had clubbed off the Goblin King's head. Another tale she had learned in books, and one that made her droplets of Tookish blood thrill. Lying down in the light of day with a book in her hand, eating up fairy tales and legends of a land far from her own, Firiel found she was quickly forgetting the sadness of the day. It had been a lot of work saving up the money she had given to poor Percy, but she knew, if the sun kept shining on every day, that she could get there once again.

* * *

Much later in the evening, there came a gentle knock at the door. Firiel looked up from her book and realized that she was sitting in the shadows of the night. She had lit a candle to read by as the sun had been dipping, but she hadn't truly thought about how late it was.

"Firiel?" Bilbo opened the door gently, peeking in, "Are you ready to eat, or should I leave you?"

"I'm ready," she stood quickly, dog-earing her book and rushing to the wardrobe for her housecoat, "It's rather late for supper though, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry about that," he replied, "It seems I fell asleep in my chair."

Firiel placed her book back on her nightstand and blew out her candle. She came towards the door, smiling sweetly at her uncle as she pulled the white robe over her shoulders.

"Not a problem. We can just call it dinner then," she walked out past him with a smile, "I was busy reading anyways."

"Oh, anything interesting?"

"Yes, the old song mother pulled my name from, actually."

* * *

To Firiel's joy and amazement, Bilbo had actually managed to not destroy the fish. He had merely blackened the skin and scales, and Firiel knew the insides would be delicious as a result. She smiled, thanking him and gushing over how delicious supper looked.

"You should cook more often," she grinned at her uncle as they sat down at the dinner table near the hearth.

"Uh, no," he stated simply, "That's how you earn your keep around here, if I'm not mistaken."

She giggled and picked up her fork, cutting off the first bite of that delicious smelling fish. Just as she was about to put the scrumptious delight in her mouth, there came the ring of the doorbell. Bilbo, who had been squeezing lemon over his fish, squished the thing completely and looked up towards the foyer, utterly annoyed. Firiel shoved the delicious morsel into her mouth and went to stand.

"No, no," Bilbo held up his hands, stopping her in her tracks, "I'll get it. You've had a long day. Go ahead and eat. I'll deal with this.

"Who on Earth could it be?" she heard him grumble to himself as he headed out for the door, winding his red housecoat tightly around his person.

Firiel turned back to her fish, but couldn't squash the annoying feeling that bubbled up inside her. It was like a mixture of dread and anticipation. Something was about to happen.

She heard a deep and gruff voice conversing with her uncle, before great lumbering steps began to make their way towards her. All along the way, she could hear Bilbo sputtering and apologizing and almost asking the intruder to leave. Almost. Firiel jumped from her seat, pulling her housecoat across her body and tying it firmly. Just as she managed to close it, the dining room's entryway was completely blocked by the figure of a man. Not just any man; a large, tough looking dwarf, with skin that looked wind-burnt and sun-dried. He looked withered, yet strong. He was most definitely a stranger to both of them.

"Oh," he seemed surprised to see her shocked young face, turning back to Bilbo, "My apologies. I didn't know you had a Misses."

"A what?!" Firiel and Bilbo cried in unison.

"Absolutely no-!" "Ew."

Bilbo turned on his young niece with a somewhat withering look before turning back to the dwarf. Dwalin paid him no heed, sitting down at Bilbo's place at the table and digging in to his food. Without any utensils.

"This is my niece, Firiel," Bilbo looked equal part irritated and disillusioned with this whole situation, "Firiel, this is Mr…er-Dwalin. He's-uh-here for dinner."

"Oh…" Firiel muttered, gazing up at the rough and tumble dwarf with weary eyes, "I see."

The longer Bilbo and Firiel stared at him devouring their food, the more irritated and fascinated they respectively became. This dwarf, Dwalin, could eat. Firiel had barely finished her little fish in time for Dwalin to begin asking Bilbo is there was any more. He had already eaten the four other fish Bilbo had fried, and was now devouring Bilbo's own fish. Bilbo was clearly too irritated to eat, much less reply to Dwalin's inquiry.

"Oh, not fish, I'm afraid," Firiel said to him sweetly, intently studying his scruffy beard and the tattoos on his shaved head with fascination as she gathered up her dishes, "But I do believe there are some biscuits there by the window."

Bilbo gave her a most incredulous look from his little chair while Dwalin had looked to her, regarding her with contemplation. She shrugged back once Dwalin had turned to her uncle, mouthing and motioning, "It's a dwarf, in our dining room!" Bilbo seemed to still be a little shell shocked, standing and grabbing up the biscuit plate. Whilst Dwalin was preoccupied with his fish, Bilbo snuck two biscuits off the plate, for himself and Firiel, and placed them in his pocket.

"Help yourself," Bilbo invited, though any hobbit would hear the deeply hidden tone of, "Why are you here, eating my food? Get out."

Putting the plate down in front of the dwarf, the two hobbits watched in awe and horror as he proceeded to dig his grubby fist into the whole plate, grabbing up the crumbly mess he had left behind and shoving it in his mouth, moaning in satisfaction. Firiel quickly turned from the horrid sight and scurried off to the kitchen, depositing her dishes in the sink.

The doorbell rang again. Firiel jumped on the spot, and then rushed to the door with great excitement. Could it be another dwarf her uncle was having for dinner?

Firiel reached the door just as Bilbo was opening it, and watched her uncle grow even more shocked as it revealed yet another dwarf. This one looked far older than Dwalin, with a long white beard and hair to match. He smiled kindly at them, unlike Dwalin had, and Firiel saw a twinkle in his old green eyes.

"Balin," he spread his arms out and bowed, "At your service."

"Good evening," Bilbo managed out.

"Yes, yes, it is," Balin regarded the night sky before he strode in, "Though, I think it might rain later. Am I late?"

"Late for what?" Bilbo asked him.

"Oh, and my apologies to this lovely young creature," Balin then turned to Firiel and took her hand briefly before turning back to Bilbo, "How do you do, my dear? Is this your daughter?"

Firiel smiled uncertainly at him and said, "Well, actually-."

"Oh!" Balin cried out, looking past her, "Haha!"

Firiel moved as Balin strode past her, taking off towards Dwalin, who had his hands literally in the hobbits' tiny cookie jar.

"Evening Brother," the white haired dwarf greeted him jovially.

"Ohoho, by my beard," Dwalin laughed for the first time since he'd arrived, placing the cookie jar down on the nearest table, "You're shorter and wider than last we met."

"Wider, not shorter," Balin countered, "And sharp enough for both of us."

Bilbo and Firiel exchanged a glance and both took a look out the door, gazing about the night, utterly puzzled by their company before shutting the door. They turned back in time to see the two dwarves in some sort of brotherly embrace. Then they watched as the two slammed their heads together in a way that made the two hobbits shrink up in second-hand pain. They seemed totally unaffected though, but the shock of it was enough to bring Bilbo from his stupor.

"Um, 'scuse me, sorry, hate to interrupt," Bilbo said to the two, "But the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house."

The two dwarves elected to ignore him, Dwalin leading Balin off into the house. Bilbo and Firiel chased after them, fearing for their kitchen.

"Now, it's not that we don't like visitors," Bilbo continued once they had found them in the pantry, "Believe me, I like visitors as much as the next hobbit. But I do like to know them before they come visiting."

Dwalin and Balin were ignoring him, instead spending their time being completely disgusted by Bilbo's beloved blue cheese, which Dwalin threw out of the pantry as Bilbo tried to sputter out the right words.

"The thing is, I don't-I don't know either of you," Biblo stammered, "Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, but I, I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry."

At her uncle's apology, the two dwarves finally looked at him. After a brief pause, Balin gave him a smile.

"Apology accepted," he said with a nod.

"Oh," was Bilbo's poor reply.

The doorbell rang again. Bilbo looked back and forth between the entryway and the pantry, torn between supervising and seeing to the latest threat.

"Go," Firiel told her uncle, "I'll supervise here."

Bilbo nodded and took off. Firiel turned to look inside the pantry, rushing inside to grab at Dwalin as he was about to dispose of an entire round of aging cheddar cheese.

"Stop," she cried, "This is good cheese! Aged! You need to wait until it's covered in mold, then cut the mold off. That's when it's best. Have you never aged cheese before?"

Dwalin looked down at her like she was crazy, but put the cheese back nonetheless.

"Thank you," Firiel sighed, moving back so she could look at both of them, "Now tell me, is there anything I can get out of here for you? Something in particular you're hungry for?"

"Well, you're out of fish," Dwalin gripped, "Any other meats?"

"Well, we have eggs," Firiel walked past the two to dive into the pantry, "Am I have plenty of bacon, sausage links, some gueta, and plenty of other cheese we haven't aged yet if you're so intent on cheese."

"That sounds lovely, my dear," she heard Balin's smile in his every word, "Best bring it all out. The others will be starved as well."

"Other's?"

Suddenly, Dwalin and Balin's heavy footsteps left the pantry. She scrambled to dig out the aforementioned food, knowing that Balin was probably not joking around with her.

"Fili, Kili," she heard Dwalin say, "Come on, give us a hand."

_Fili? Kili?_

Firiel stood up like she'd been struck by lightning. Turning towards the door frame, she saw Dwalin with his arm around Kili, and Fili came following close behind into the dining room. The dwarves who had cost her all of her savings. Despite her earlier calmness when reminiscing on her encounter with the two, Firiel saw red. She quickly slammed the meat down onto the counter and rushed to the scene.

"You two!" she snarled, coming out into the hall, "Get out of my house!"

"Hey, look Brother," Kili looked back to Fili, smiling as if oblivious, "It's Miss May."

Fili looked up from his sleeve that he'd been fiddling with, and smiled like a child on Christmas morning.

"Miss May," he grinned at her, "What a pleasant and welcome surprise. You never told us your father was a burglar."

"A what?!" Firiel quickly turned her momentary shock back into rage, "You two owe me enough money to buy a horse!"

"What?" Fili cocked an eyebrow, stopping in his tracks to face her, "Do we now?"

Had she not known him for the theif he was, she'd have mistaken the look on his face for concern. Firiel saw her uncle waddling in after the brothers, carrying a huge pile of sheathed swords.

"Are you paid that bad?" Kili grinned, slapping his brother on the shoulder and leading him into the dining room.

"Come on," Balin said to the two, "Better move this out into the hall. We'll never fit everyone in this little room."

"Everyone?!" Bilbo and Firiel gasped.

The doorbell rang again. And this time it didn't stop. It just kept on ringing. Bilbo turned on his heel, throwing the swords down by grandma's boudoir.

"No, no, GO AWAY!" he yelled, heading towards the door, "THERE'S NOBODY'S HOME! Go away, and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is!"

She could hear him ranting down the hall, "If this is some PLOTHEAD'S idea of a joke – haha – I can only say, it is in very poor taste."

Firiel couldn't agree more. She rushed towards the four dwarves who were currently attempting to move the large dining room table out into the hall.

"You're going to smash it up again the wall! You're going to take chips out of my great-great-grandmother Took's cedar wood table!"

"Miss May, my love," Kili spoke with a tone like warm honey, but his eyes conveyed utter annoyance, "Why don't you sit your pretty little self down for a spell and let the men handle it?"

Firiel seethed. Who did this shaggy thief think he was?

"Shut your mouth and help me lift," Fili said to him quickly, "How do you think it looks when you talk to a woman like that? Are you a prince or a miner?"

Kili rolled his eyes at his older brother, and would have probably made a very rude gesture if his hands were not preoccupied. Firiel watched in horror as the two of them barely managed to avoid smacking the antique table against the rounded door frame. There was the growth height of each of the four generations that had followed great-great-grandmamy and grandpapy Took carved neatly on one of the old legs. Firiel's own name and height had made it onto that leg during her late infancy. She marked the fifth generation of their family, given that she had been the oldest of the children. That table was over a hundred years old! It had only survived all those years with constant care, cleaning, and careful varnishing. And they were going to destroy it!

"I'm going to faint," she confessed airily, the palms that had magically traveled up to her cheeks growing very clammy and hot, her body beginning to shake profusely.

"Here, my dear," Balin appeared beside her quite suddenly, handing her a mug, "It's only water, but it'll do. Come have a seat. We'll take good care of the table, don't you fret. Fili and Kili have good, strong arms and hands. Don't you worry about a thing."

Firiel allowed the kind old man to lead her over to one of the antique tea chairs, sitting her down and staying beside her. He buzzed and fretted over her for a moment, but something soon caught his attention and he rushed off. When Firiel's eyes followed him, she suddenly became so horrified and excited that she almost threw up her small dinner. A whole new pack of dwarves came tumbling into the hall, and, at the rear, a giant man with grey robes and a long white beard.

* * *

"Put that back! **Put that back!**"

"Please be gentle with that!"

"That's my grandmother's antique chairs; they are not for sitting on!"

Firiel simply sat quietly on the little chair that Balin had left her in, sipping away at her mug of water. After the dwarves had all come running in, he uncle had run to change into some actual clothes for his clearly unwelcome guests. Still a little embarrassed after getting so worked up over the table, Firiel had elected to simply remain out of the way, watching as the dwarves nearly ransacked their little home, tossing out dishes and food by the armloads to the dining room table. Her inner barmaid had come out to play, calculating how long it would take her to do all of these blasted dishes, and how much time and money it would cost to fill their pantry once it had been entirely emptied. All the aged, aging, and fresh cheese had been thrown out or devoured by this great, portly dwarf whose name she thought might have been Gloin. Or was it Bombur? She'd sort that out later. Altogether, including the strangely tall man whom everyone was calling Gandalf, there were eleven new strangers running about the hobbit hole. Eleven strangers decimating their pantry. She was shocked that Bilbo hadn't had an aneurysm yet. Though, he seemed to be getting there in record time.

"How are you doing, my dear girl?"

Firiel was startled she had been spoken to, and awoke from her contemplative calculations to look up to the ceiling at the towering shape of Gandalf. Up close, he had a rather striking set of kind blue eyes. The second pair of naturally kind eyes she had had the pleasure of finding that evening.

"Quite fine, thank you," she said, not minding when he stooped over to hear her better, "I figure it's best to just stay out of the way."

"Very wise indeed," Gandalf chuckled, "One should know better than to stand between a dwarf and his meal. Especially when there is a group of them."

Firiel laughed, remembering the way the two brothers and Dwalin had eaten when alone. They enjoyed every last morsel, scarfing it down with appreciative groans and licking their licks and fingers. Now that there was a whole band of them, it looked more like a pack of wolves in a feeding frenzy. Everyone was fighting for their every bite, yet sharing it all at once. Some had set the table with plates and forks, while others had poured drinks and carried food out of the pantry. And others simply ate. Like Dwalin; everything he touched had to be sampled.

"It's like observing wild animals," she admitted to Gandalf, "They're absolutely fascinating."

"Indeed, if you enjoy watching that sort of thing," Gandalf regarded her strangely for a moment, "I presume, since you have not asked my name, that you already know who I am?"

"Oh, my apologies," Firiel turned to him, "I presume your name is Gandalf, which means that you are quite possibly Gandalf the Wandering Wizard, whom my mother told me about. She still raves of your fireworks."

"Is that all anyone remembers of me?" Gandalf seemed a little exasperated by the thought, "And who might you be?"

"Firiel-May Brandybuck," she said, reaching out to shake the wizard's massive hand, "Of Buckland. Daughter of Myrtle Baggins-Brandybuck and Arthur Brandybuck. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gandalf."

"Just Gandalf will do, my dear," he smiled down at her, then his face turned serious, "How is Miss Myrtle these days? Still a serious sort of soul, I take it?"

Firiel laughed, "Serious as the lightning storm. And just as fierce. My more rambunctious younger siblings have done her nerves some good."

Gandalf looked at her strangely once more, before a glimmering fleck of excitement crossed over his features. Upon catching her gaze unknowingly wandering toward the backside (particularly the well-shaped bottom) of a certain flaxen-haired young prince, Gandalf would have looked nearly predatory to those who knew him well. And none of them were present to warn the little woman. This, the wizard had decided in that moment, would be a most amusing adventure indeed.

"Well, my darling," he smiled down at her like a Cheshire cat, "You must come and dine with us. Sit and indulge in the experience of such a rare cultural delight. As messy as they look, I can assure you they are quite pleasing company."

Firiel turned from her half-oblivious observations and smiled up at Gandalf, accepting immediately. She had already eaten, but she couldn't possibly pass up such a chance to study these men. She might even be able to do her own little journal about what she learned.

The table was covered in every food from the pantry, and every dish the dwarves emptied was placed beneath a full one for the sake of space. Every dining chair in the house, antique or not, had been brought up to the table. Firiel marveled as a plate was quickly place before her by the unmistakable hand of Gandalf.

"I'd grab my share with great haste, if I were you," the wizard said, "Before there is nothing left."

Firiel, having eaten, only took a small potion when offered a plate of vegetables, which appeared to be mostly untouched. It was amazing, given the fact that food was being thrown across the table in every which way so quickly it would have made your head spin. She quickly noticed that, while Balin and some of the older dwarves had specks of green amongst their plates, the dwarves were largely devouring meats and cheeses. Potatoes were included in their meals, as were whichever bread-like substances they could find. A hearty diet indeed, one that spoke of a rougher life than her own. All the things they ate in droves were high in protein or hearty enough to last weeks of storage or travel. The dwarves were great drinkers as well; each with his own cup of ail or wine that never seemed to be empty. They laughed and sang and joked and even played games with their food. Soon Fili was up and walking across the table, passing ail about, not caring that his dirty boots were up with the food. They were a rather rowdy bunch.

"Where do they come from?" Firiel asked Gandalf over the noise.

"From the Blue Mountains, mostly," he replied, looking on in distaste as Kili flung a piece of food into Gloin's mouth, "There is a small dwarf settlement there, consisting of the survivors of their ancient kingdom."

"Ancient kingdom?"

"Yes, indeed, these men are the-," Gandalf was interrupted as a piece of food nearly smacked him in the nose, "Watch where you are aiming those confounded potatoes!"

Firiel laughed, the wizard's disgruntled face a sight indeed. He looked most humorous in the way he nearly sulked.

"Now, as I was say-."

"Excuse me, Miss May?"

Firiel turned from Gandalf to look at the dwarf who had just addressed her. He was a shy looking one, with a red bowl-cut and a little beard.

"Can I help you?" she asked him.

"I'm sorry to ask, but would you be able to point me towards the bathroom?"

"Oh yes, of course," she smiled, "It's down that hall there, 3rd door on your right. And please, call me Firiel."

The young dwarf smiled at her, blushing brightly.

"Ori," he said, "At your service."

He took off before Firiel could say otherwise. She heard Gandalf give a little chuckle, as well as someone else. She looked at the dwarf across from her, who happened to be the one chuckling.

"Don't worry," he grinned, his funny winged cap bouncing with his laughter, "He thinks you're pretty."

"Oh, really?" Firiel was surprised, though she grinned brightly, "Aren't I a little hairless for his taste?"

"If you were an average looking soul maybe, but, no matter his race, a man can appreciate true and honest beauty," he winked at her, waggling his eyebrows comically.

"Thank you very much," she laughed delightedly, "Who might you be, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Bofur," he told her, "At your service."

"Firiel-May Brandybuck, at yours," she nodded in return, "I'm afraid that there's so many of you I can't possibly keep track of who is who."

"Ah, yes, my apologies, my dear," Gandalf suddenly joined in, "Allow me to point out whom is whom."

And so, Gandalf went around the table, pointing to each of the dwarves. Most of the names Firiel had forgotten by the end.

"And it seems you are already familiar with Fili and Kili," Gandalf finished, secretly delighting in the sour face she pulled at the mention of them.

"Really now?" Bifur, she thought his name was, seemed fascinated, "How did you happen to come across those two?"

"Well, they were guests last night at the inn I work for," Firiel explained, "And I served them breakfast this morning before they took off."

"It was quite delicious," Kili interjected into her story with a greasy grin, "Be sure to tell your boss that next you see him."

Firiel suddenly remembered what she had been so upset about right before her grandmother's table. She stood abruptly, gazing down at the two brothers with a rather serious expression.

"Would it be alright for me to speak to the two of you for a moment?"

The whole company stood.

"Alone."

The dwarves sat again. Kili looked to Fili, who nodded his head, getting up to follow her into the next room. Kili trailed behind them, and she just heard Gandalf striking up a much lighter conversation than the one she was about to have with them. Firiel was a bundle of nerves. She was about to confront these two over something that could have easily been an accident. She sat in her little chair in front of the fire, lounging out and gazing into the hearth, her head resting on her fist. The two brothers stood awkwardly, and the sound of their fidgeting brought her a little speck of giddy joy as she contemplated how to approach this. If she had learned anything from this evening, straight forward seemed the best approach.

"So, here's the thing," she sat up, turning to look at them in her chair, "You two left the inn this morning without having properly paid my boss, and I demand an explanation."

Fili and Kili looked at one another before turning back to her. They looked alarmingly confused.

"What do you mean?" Kili asked.

Firiel flushed in embarrassment and frustration. Was someone playing a joke on her?

"I mean that you only left enough to cover your breakfast this morning."

The two frowned.

"No," Fili said slowly, "We left more than the flat rate we had been told we would owe."

Perhaps she had them all wrong. Maybe they just hadn't understood what the system was. Inns were not all-inclusive in the Shire, but maybe they were in Dwarfish culture. After all, she had finally considered, if they really were thieves, they would have left nothing at all.

"Flat rate doesn't cover food and drink," Firiel explained, trying to be calm and patient, "Didn't you two know that?"

"What?!" "That's absurd!" "Who ever heard of such a thing?!" "Gave him almost everything we had just to cover that bloody room." "The beds weren't that nice."

Firiel could have laughed at them, and she did after a moment. The two looked completely insulted, and totally shocked. It seemed it really had been a huge misunderstanding. She suddenly didn't feel nearly so angry about losing her money now. It's not as though Bilbo charged her rent, and she hadn't been working that long for Percy. She felt she was in no hurry to up and leave her poor uncle all alone anyways. He could barely handle house guests without going into an antisocial fit. Though, after seeing these dwarves, she understood it in this case.

"Well, how much do we actually owe him?" Fili asked her.

"Nothing now," she said, feeling pretty decent after her recent discovery.

"What do you mean?" Kili asked, "You said we hadn't paid him properly."

"That we'd only left enough for our breakfast," Fili tacked on.

"That too," Kili nodded.

"It's alright," she said, relaxing back into staring at the fire, "I paid the rest for you."

"You did what?"

Firiel gazed up at them, surprised by how surprised they seemed. It was just gold. She would make more again.

"We owe you a huge debt." "More than we could pay right now."

"That's fine," she shrugged, getting up to throw more wood into the fire, "You didn't mean any harm. Besides, it was my choice to give Percy the money. I shouldn't demand that you owe me because of my own decisions."

The two fell silent as Firiel heaved up another log and dropped it in the fire. She took the iron poker, moving about the ashes and watched as the wood caught. She went again to move another bit of wood, but it was quickly taken from her. She looked up, only to be met with the sight of Fili taking it from her little hands.

"You said we owed you a lot of money earlier," Fili insisted, turning to put the log in the fire for her, "We're going to pay you back. Though I'm afraid we haven't got the money right now."

"But we will," Kili assured her, taking her arm and guiding her back to the chair, "Do you think we may be able to come back and do some work for you after our quest? In case it fails?"

Firiel grinned at them, nodding her head. She had read about how much stock a dwarf put in his gold, but she couldn't believe it now as she bore witness to it. Hobbits didn't tend to place such value on precious minerals of the earth. Had she taken up the bill for a hobbit and told them not to worry, they would have done just that and headed off on their merry way. These two were different. She could truly see how precious it was to them, in a way. They seemed more concerned with honouring their debt than the gold itself.

"How about we chop some wood for you before we go in the morning?" Kili offered, sitting in the chair across from her as Fili continued to load the fire.

* * *

Once the fire was loaded and the three new friends returned to the table, the racket seemed to have finally ceased. The food on the table was absolutely decimated (and mostly wasted), and the dwarves had scattered themselves amongst the corridors of the house, scavenging whatever scraps remained. Fili and Kili immediately took off to chat with some dwarf or another, so Firiel decided to head off in search of poor Bilbo. He was muttering to himself, which she knew could not be good.

"Uncle, are you alright?" she asked him, coming up to rub his back.

"Conbother and confusticate these dwarves!" he ground out his jibberish in absolute frustration.

"My dear Bilbo," Gandalf said, ducking in to the kitchen from the hall, "What on Earth is the matter?"

"What's the matter?" Bilbo shot his gaze up to the wizard, chasing after him and whisper-shouting, "I'm surrounded by dwarves! What on Earth are they doing here?"

"I would like to know that as well," Firiel stated, dodging Bofur and another dwarf as they fought over a sausage link.

"Oh, they're quite a merry gathering," Gandalf evaded, looking after the two dwarves, "Once you get used to them."

"I don't want to get used to them," Bilbo argued, leading Gandalf out towards the hall, "The state of my kitchen! There's mud trotting the carpet! They've pillaged the pantry! I'm not even gonna tell you what they've done in the bathroom; they've all but destroyed the plumbing. I don't understand what they're doing in my house!"

Firiel, who had chased out after them, meant to try and comfort her uncle in some way, but someone taped her shoulder. It was Ori.

"Pardon me, M-miss Firiel," he said, blushing as usual, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

She was about to answer, but suddenly Fili was in front of her and Bilbo.

"Come on, Ori, give it to me," he said, snatching the plate and sending a wink to Firiel.

She was starting to think he had a twitch.

Before either of the two hobbits knew what was happening, Fili threw the plate back towards where Gandalf was standing. Threw it. Down the hall. Firiel almost imploded. Never to worry though, for Gandalf had moved and Kili caught the plate without an issue, tossing it back into the kitchen. Fili looked down at Firiel again and gave a hearty laugh at her expression before receiving another plate to toss from seemingly out of nowhere. She could only guess how she looked at that moment; paralyzed with fright.

"EXCUSE ME!" Bilbo shouted, reaching in vain for the plates, "THAT'S MY MOTHER'S BEST STANDING CROCKERY! It's over a hundred years old!"

At that point, the brothers seemed to think it appropriate to play hackie-sack with the hundred year old bowls. Firiel suddenly felt very faint again, until she noticed that the dwarves had all returned to the immediate vicinity, either tossing plates from the table to Fili or tapping their cutlery on the table and running the knives together in a rather percussive pattern.

"Excuse me, don't do that please," Bilbo scolded, "You'll blunt the knives."

"Oooh, do you here that, lads?" Bofur mocked as the dwarves began to tap their feet, "He says we'll blunt the knives."

The dwarves gave a rather hearty laugh.

"He's right you know," Firiel chimed in, recovering her wits, "And you're going to put chips in that bloody table!"

Another laugh was given. Firiel was irritated, but she suddenly saw their purpose when Kili began to sing.

"_Blunt the knives, bend the forks_."

"_Smash the bottles and burn the corks_," Fili cut across, bouncing another bowl on his elbows.

_"Chip the glasses and crack the plates_," they all started up, "_THAT'S WHAT BILBO BAGGINS HATES!_"

The others all joined in.

_"Cut the cloth and tread the fat!_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor!_

_Splash the wine on every door!"_

Firiel and Bilbo could only sit back and watch in horror as dishes were carried in stack up to the ceiling and dwarves ran about throwing and eating even more things. It occurred to Firiel very quickly that none of these horrible thing were actually being done. In fact, it looked as though they were cleaning. All except Dwalin, who had produced a violin at some point during the chaos and was playing along with their song.

_"Dump the crocks in a bowling bowl;_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole;_

_And when you've finished if any are whole,_

_Send them down the hall to roll!"_

Soon, the chaos of flying scrapes and dishes became too much for either Firiel or Bilbo to keep track of, and all the while the dwarves danced along with the violin. Bofur had found his clarinet it seemed, playing along as Gandalf stood in the back corner of the room, utterly amused with it all.

_"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"_

The dwarves and Gandalf laughed heartily, having congregated around the table to chat boisterously as their song finished. Bilbo pushed through the crowd of them in great alarm for his dishes, but was absolutely relieved to find them all safe and sound. The whole company laughed in great delight at his expression, while Firiel found herself laughing in delight as well.

"Oh Uncle, wasn't that marvelous?" she cried with glee, half-leaping off towards the pile with giddy joy, "I wish hobbit cleanups were so merry!"

Bilbo found he could only mutter incoherently in response. The others all continued to laugh, their trick all too amusing, until there came a mighty knock at the door. Suddenly, everyone was still. And deathly serious. Gandalf was the first to speak.

"He is here," the wizard said.

Bilbo and Firiel exchanged a look as Gandalf stood and headed towards the door in the foyer. The dwarves who stood by the adjacent door frame all crowded around it to see through. Firiel, short as she was, could not see over them, so she elected to listen instead.

"Gandalf," a new voice, rich and commanding, greeted, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice."

Some of the dwarves at the door frame all bowed their heads suddenly, and she caught a glimpse of their latest, and hopefully last, house guest for the evening. He was as tall as Dwalin, who was already quite tall (her reached the tops of their door frames with ease, infact), but not bald. He had long black hair and a fiercely handsome face. His eyes were blue, in a likeness to Fili's, only darker. His face immediately reminded her of Kili though. Firiel, curious, elected to go around to the other door frame and go into the foyer herself. When she got there, she saw the handsome man shedding his cloak. She felt the other dwarves who had been behind follow her around.

"I never would have found it were it not for that mark on the door," he said.

What a puzzling comment.

"Mark?" she heard then saw her uncle, who had pushed through the dwarves, "There's no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago."

"There is a mark," Gandalf smiled down at him with a look that willed the hobbit to be silent, "I put it there myself."

There was a pause, in which Firiel almost felt her uncle half-glazing at the wizard, with that look that demanded an explanation. She had gotten one such look the night _she_ had arrived. Gandalf took a deep breath and extended his arm out towards Bilbo.

"Bilbo Baggins," he said slowly, "Allow me to introduce the leader of our company. This is Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo and Throin turned to look at one another. She watched Thorin walk towards Bilbo, looming down over him.

"So," he said, "This is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?" Bilbo started a bit.

"Axe or sword?" Thorin circled him like a warg stalking prey, "What's your weapon of choice?"

"Well, I do have some skill at conkers if you must know," Bilbo was clearly at his wits end and unintimidated, which Firiel applauded him for, "But I fail to see why that's relevant."

"Though as much," Thorin said lightly, crossing his arms and turning back towards the dwarves for a brief instant, "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The dwarves laughed around her, and Firiel couldn't understand why. What did they want with her uncle? Soon, the dwarves turned to head in to the dining table, and Firiel could not let that Oaken-whatever go without any questions.

"Excuse me," she stepped out of the men and towards Bilbo, "What do you mean by that?"

The lot of them stopped in their tracks and turned back to her. Thorin took the longest, making a slow, full-body turn back towards her. He stared her down, regarding her with an amusement she found disrespectful. Thorin took a slow, purposeful step towards her, his eyes holding the very expression she was sure he had give Bilbo. A look of doubtful arrogance.

"And who might you be?" he asked her, staring down with a smile she knew was meant to demean and subordinate.

Gandalf started, "Ah yes, forgive me, this is-."

Firiel raised her hand to cut the wizard off.

"Given that fact that you have come into this home uninvited and so rudely insulted your host, who has already been patient enough with your company, you have no right to ask me anything."

A few of the dwarves inhaled through their nostrils. Bofur let out a low whistle. Thorin wasn't smiling down at her anymore, but studying her with eyes that she knew were his true ones. They were dark and distrusting. Unused to being defied.

"So, why are you here?"

"Well, girl," he said, "Hold your tongue long enough, and you may soon see."

Thorin turned to head into the dining room, and the others turned around, pretending as though they had seen nothing. Bilbo, Gandalf, and an infuriated Firiel watched them all go.

"Girl?" Firiel spat in quite disgust, "Is that really all he's got? Who does he think he is?"

Gandalf chuckled at her.

"He thinks he is a king, my dear."


	3. Chapter 3

The dwarves now sat quietly at the dimly lit dining room table, Thorin at the head. Who Thorin was had only truly been made clear as the dwarves had greeted him with bows one by one. He appeared to be their king. Bilbo was in the living room just behind the table, pacing. Firiel stood in the back against the wall, unwilling to sit down to a table with him. She didn't take kindly to people who showed her and her family members such disrespect. Even now she was irritated by the sight of him, eating a stew and biscuits she had made just yesterday.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" Balin asked Thorin, "Did they all come?"

"Aye," Thorin answered him, looking out at his company, "Envoys from all seven kingdoms."

The dwarves all made noises of approval and great delight. Firiel knew what that meant. He had met with ambassadors from the seven Dwarf Kingdoms. But for what purpose?

"What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin asked him, "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin took pause at that moment, looking out again as if to console his men.

"They will not come," he said.

The dwarves began to chatter amongst themselves, all earlier joy seemingly lost. Firiel met Gandalf's eye for a moment, and his expression told her that this was definitely not good. Thorin continued.

"They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

The company all looked equal parts betrayed and discouraged.

"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo, who had come to stand by Gandalf, asked.

Gandalf straightened immediately, looking mildly alarmed.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow," he said, spinning in his chair, but not looking at him, "Let us have a little more light."

Bilbo nodded his head and took off to find a candle just beyond the door frame. Firiel was electing to once again remain back and observe, not wanting to ruin any interesting events that may unfold. She watched as Gandalf removed a piece of folded paper from his pocket.

"Far to the East," he began, unfolding his paper, "Over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak."

She watched her uncle lean past Thorin to take a look at the paper, which she now saw to be a small map.

"The Lonely Mountain," Bilbo read.

"Aye," a sturdy, red-headed dwarf named Gloin chimed, "Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time."

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain," Oin said, "As it was fortold.

"When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

Beast? Firiel was even more curious now. What beast did they speak of? What on Earth was Erebor? It was all rather exciting. Bilbo soon voiced her own musings.

"Uh, what beast?" he asked, seemingly quite pale.

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible," Bofur told him casually, speaking as though he were telling an old ghost tale, "Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals."

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo found his voice, a little insulted but still somewhat shaken.

"Oh dear," Firiel murmured, suddenly feeling that awful bubbling she had had earlier that evening.

"I'm not afraid. I'm up for it!" Ori said suddenly, standing, "I'll give'im a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!"

"Good lad, Ori!" someone praised him as the others voiced their rather mixed reactions.

Firiel saw Fili turn to gaze back at her, and they both shared a look of worry. Hopefully Ori wouldn't be allowed to meet that dragon.

"Sit down," another dwarf told Ori.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," Balin made sure to remind them all, "But we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best…nor brightest."

"Who are you calling dim?" the dwarf she could now remembered was called Nori cried out in insult.

The other dwarves also voice their protests. Fili then slammed his fist down on the table to gain everyone's attention.

"We may be few in numbers, but we're fighters" he argued Balin's point, "All of us, to the last dwarf!"

"And you forget we have a wizard in our company," Kili chimed in, "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

The dwarves all turned to look at Gandalf, murmuring their agreements. The wizard looked quite flustered all of a sudden.

"Oh well, no," he protested meekly, "I wouldn't say-."

"How many then?"

"What?" Gandalf played dumb.

"Well, how many dragons have you killed?" the dwarf who just asked insisted.

Gandalf simply began to cough on the smoke from his pipe.

"Go on. Give us a number!"

Soon there was a rather sudden explosion as many of the dwarves stood and began to yell amongst themselves. I say amongst themselves because it was nearly impossible to distinguish what any of them were saying. She soon realized that they were arguing in Kazdul, their native language. It had only just occurred to her that they were speaking common tongue as courtesy towards their non-dwarvish companions. Bilbo tried to speak out calmly in order to retain the earlier order of the conversation, but it fell on deaf ears. Suddenly, Thorin stood and gave a monstrous shout, in Kazdul, and the dwarves sat abruptly, silent as mice. Firiel had to admit, the man could control a crowd.

"If we have read these signs," Throin began again in common tongue, holding the other dwarves in his power with his very tone of voice, "Do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon, Smaug, has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lie unprotected. Do we sit back, while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?!"

The dwarves at the table all gave a great cheer, raising their mugs and crying out in jubilation. Their quest, it seemed, was to take back a lost home. And, with no kingdom to call his own, that made Thorin their prince only.

"You forget, the Front Gate is sealed," Balin reminded them yet again of more grim details, "There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf said to him, producing a large metal key from his sleeve.

Thorin looked shocked to see the object.

"How came you by this?" he asked the wizard quietly.

"It was given to me by your father," Gandalf told him, "By Thrain. For safekeeping. It is yours now."

Gandalf then handed Thorin the key, and the surly dwarf looked as though he might cry. He turned it over in his fingers, mesmerized by what seemed to be a memory.

"If there is a key, there must be a door," Fili said.

Gandalf nodded at him.

"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls," he divulged.

"There's another way in," Kili grinned, patting his brother's shoulder.

"Well, if we came find it," Gandalf nearly shrugged, "But dwarf doors are invisible when closed, and I do not have the skill to find it."

"Whose bright idea was that?" Firiel muttered to herself from the back, and it was not lost on the ears of the brothers, who snorted a bit.

"But," Gandalf raise his hand, "There are others in Middle Earth who can."

The wizard looked down meaningfully at Thorin, and the dwarf seemed to hae an inkling as to where this was going.

"The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage," Gandalf stated, looking back toward Bilbo, "But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done."

At that point, the old wizard met Firiel's eyes, and she knew not what he meant by it.

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori said.

"Hm, and a good one at that," Bilbo nodded, staring down at the map and chewing his pipe, "An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" Gloin asked.

They all looked at Bilbo expectantly, who did not notice right away. When he did, he was absolutely puzzled.

"Am I what?" he asked, perplexed.

"He said he's an expert," he nearly deaf dwarf seated to Fili's right cheered, "Hey!"

Firiel almost choked on the laughter that threatened to escape. These people had definitely come to the wrong house. Bilbo was not nearly so amused.

"Me?" he cried, "No, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

"Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins," Balin said solemnly, "He's hardly burglar material."

"Nope." Bilbo agreed.

"Aye," Dwalin nodded, "The wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves."

"He's just fine," Kili argued from down the table, and Firiel could see another fight on the horizon.

The dwarves did indeed begin to chatter and squabble amongst themselves. Gandalf watched for a moment, then seemed to grow tired of how truly uncooperative everyone was being today.

"Enough!" the wizard shouted, his shadow growing against the wall into a dangerous and looming black cloud as he stood, "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!"

All leaned away from the wizard, rightfully terrified. Wizards, though few, were people of magic, and not to be trifled with. Especially when so angry their magic manifests itself in frightful ways. Now that he had everyone's attention, Gandalf continued.

"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet," he told them, "In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage."

Bilbo and Firiel looked to one another from across the room, the gears in their heads having finally clicked into the right position. They were looking for Bilbo to go into the mountain. Alone. With a dragon.

"You asked me to find the 14th member of this company," Gandalf said to Thorin, sitting down, "And I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself."

It was touching that Gandalf would stand up for her uncle, really it was, but Firiel could not believe what he was asking. Or perhaps she was upset that he was not asking her to tag along. Thorin looked uncertain, though it appeared Gandalf was about to win.

"You must trust me on this," the wizard said.

That was it. Thorin was done.

"Very well," the dwarf looked pained to agree, "We will do it your way. Give him the contract."

"No," Bilbo tried to plead, but no one would hear him, "no. Please-."

"We're in. We're off," Bofur said with a grin, as the matter finally seemed settled.

"It's just the usual," Balin said, handing Bilbo a rolled up piece of paper her had pulled out of his robes, "Summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo and Firiel seemed to ask in unison at once.

Some turned to looked at Firiel as she rushed up from the back of the room, seemingly remembering her was there. After the contract had been thrust into Bilbo's hands, he opened it with Firiel trying to look at it over his shoulder. He uncle gave a mighty sigh as the contract dropped to his knees from his eyes, walking away from his worried niece.

"Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding, one-fourteenth of total profit, if any. Hmm, seems fair," he muttered to himself as he paced about, "Present company shall not be responsible for injuries inflicted by or sustaining as a consequence thereof, including but not limited to…lacerations?"

Bilbo's tone of voice gained some considerable height upon that word. He reread it another time before moving on.

"Evisceration?" he then started, "Incineration?!"

"Oh, aye," Bofur nodded to him from the table, "He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."

Bilbo looked away, shutting the contract and whimpering slightly. He looked a little green to Firiel, she quickly ran to the kitchen to get him some water. She had just finished filling his mug when she heard a great thud! Instantly alarmed, she rushed back out to the hall to see her poor Uncle Bilbo lying flat on the floor. He had fainted, and none of these plot heads were moving to pick him up!

"Uncle!" she cried, placing the water on the dresser by the door and getting to the floor, trying to fan off his face with her hand.

"Oh, very helpful, Bofur," Gandalf muttered with as much sarcasm as his regal tone would allow, moving from his seat to help Firiel lift Bilbo up.

Firiel waved him off with a grateful smile, almost easily lifting Bilbo up enough that only his feet were dragging. She managed, on her own, to get him to the living room and get him seated in a chair. He was finally starting to come to by then, and Firiel rushed out to grab him the water. He thanked her and insisted he only needed to sit quietly for a moment. Gandalf had followed them, and Firiel left her uncle briefly in his care, rushing to pick the contract up from the floor. She turned to paper over in her hands for a moment, until she tuned in to the conversation the dwarves were still having.

"We're better off for it," she heard one say, "He looks like one to flee in battle."

"Now, now," she heard Balin defending him as she came towards the table again, "You don't know that."

"Please, spare us," Bofur shot back, "The contract alone did that to him."

"He's a coward," Thorin said, standing from the table, "Weak. He'd die within the hour."

As the others murmured their agreements, Firiel felt a rage shoot up through her. How dare they? They knew nothing.

"My uncle is many things," she piped up, coming into the dining space again, "But a coward isn't one of them."

All eyes turned to her, and Firiel cursed herself as she felt her body shrink away. She looked up at Thorin briefly, the dwarf studying her intensely. She looked right back at him.

"Fear doesn't make you a coward. If you're never afraid, you can never be brave. Only stupid," she looked out onto the faces at the table, "So please, don't speak of people you don't know in ways that you have no right to speak."

She felt them all staring at her, and every second that went by made her heart pound harder. She knew all about fear, and overcoming it. She had been afraid to leave her family, defy her parents, but she had done so anyways. It may have seemed small in comparison to facing a dragon, but it most certainly was not any less heroic. And a certain eavesdropper knew it. His earlier decision had become even more final, and everything seemed to be going better than planned.

"Well then," Gandalf said, reappearing in the dining area quite suddenly and dispersing some of the tension, "Since Mr. Baggins is indisposed and unwilling, we still have another option."

The dwarves all looked amongst one another, shrugging their shoulders. Thorin knew the look on Gandalf's face.

"What is your new plan?" he asked.

"If we cannot have Mr. Baggins, then, perhaps," Gandalf looked towards Firiel with a smile, "this young lady will do quite nicely."

Firiel felt her jaw drop and her knees go weak. Was this really happening? Was she really going to get that adventure she had been wanting so desperately? This time, when everyone stared at her, she tried to stand straight and look back at them unintimidated; she could do this.

"Miss Firiel?" "Why would we take her?" "The wild is no place for young girls!"

"I don't mind it," she heard Kili say from down the table, and heard Fili and a couple of others voice their agreement.

Thorin looked to be thoroughly unimpressed and unconvinced.

"And what would possess me to take a little lamb like that along with a company of men?"

At those words, Firiel shot her gaze back to the dwarves' leader. She didn't know what possessed her to be so defiant, especially after just having come to terms with the plan to not leave her poor uncle alone at home. Gandalf opened his mouth as if to sell her to Thorin as he had Bilbo, but found, to his further amusement, that he did not need to.

"I am strong," Firiel said, standing to face Thorin, "And quick. Quiet, clever, well-read-."

"A woman," Thorin argued back, turning to gaze at her with unquestionable disapproval, "And a gentle one at that. You would not last a day in the wilds beyond these precious little fields."

"And it's no skin off your back if I don't."

The other dwarves all held their breath, it seemed. She had gall; Thorin would give her that. And he told her so.

"However, it is I who would have to bury your remains, if you are not melted by dragon fire. I could not in good conscience send a helpless little lamb into the lion's den."

So that was it. Thorin was certain she would be nothing more than a waiting corpse and a constant burden. The look in his eyes told Firiel he would not be convinced otherwise. She knew from the look in his eyes that he did not mean it from a terrible place, but that could not seem to stay her irritation at those words. She steeled herself to ask again, but found she didn't have to.

"Forgive me," a voice piped up from the dining room table, "But, if that is the trouble, then I shall bury her."

Firiel and Thorin broke their heated pose to gaze upon the speaker. Fili alone was standing at the table, Kili trying to pull his brother down into his seat. He brushed Kili off calmly, not once breaking the eye contact he had found with his uncle.

"You?" Thorin seemed surprised, though in an angry fashion that suited him.

"Aye," Fili nodded, "I have faith she would make an excellent addition to our company. And, should she not reach the end of our quest with us, I pledge on my honour to take full responsibility for her burial."

The others at the dining table began to whisper amongst themselves in shock. Fili was challenging Thorin. Gandalf's face wore a look of mirth, and he did not seem as surprised as the others. Firiel stared at him, shocked at both how frankly they spoke of her untimely death and that Fili would stand up for her.

Thorin looked between the young pair, the contempt at his situation written in bold ink across his stern face. Fili had made a pledge on his honour, and it would be a great mark against him if Thorin were to turn it down. Though he was young, as Thorin's eldest nephew and heir to his (yet to be revealed to our beloved hobbits) throne, Fili held rank to a certain extent, and it would do his rank no favours amongst the others to have his honour tarnished by Thorin ignoring his decisions and wishes. He then turned his jaded eyes on the creature that was the centre of this little dilemma. The little, hairless, beardless woman-creature in a pretty blue nightgown, whose eyes were too fierce for her person. But they were fierce nonetheless. He looked back at Fili.

"You will be responsible for her at all times," Thorin told him, "And, should she die, you will bear her bones back to her family and pledge them your eternal service."

"Done," Fili came around the table to grasp his uncle's hand, "I swear to it."

Thorin nodded, seemingly much more pleased than he had been a moment ago, and headed off towards the living room hearth. He had just been relieved of babysitting duty in his mind, so Firiel could see why. But she would prove to him that she didn't need a nanny to watch her every move. She wasn't about to give him any reason to doubt her on the adventure she'd been dying for.

"I'll draw up another contract," Balin smiled at her, having magically appeared beside her with a hand on her shoulder, "You can sign it in the morning."

Firiel nodded, thanking him gently. She watched Balin follow after Thorin, and the others followed him, clapping her on the upper back and voicing little congratulations and acknowledgements. All except one.

Fili had remained beside her, standing tall and gazing after the others. Firiel looked up at him, long enough for him to take notice.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"Oh yes," she started a bit, suddenly very interested in a small portrait on the far wall, "Thank you for doing that. You didn't have to."

"Nonsense," he shrugged it off, "I owe you a debt, and I'll see it paid."

Firiel looked up at him again, squaring off and catching his gaze. And there was something about her eyes that allowed him to be caught.

"You didn't have to stick your neck out for me, and you didn't have to promise to look out for me on a dangerous quest to go up against a fire-breathing dragon. So thank you. I mean it."

Fili stared down at her, still trapped in that intense yet kind gaze. Her eyes were warm and open, focusing in on his and sharing her heart and soul. She really did mean it. He felt his own eyes smiling back.

"You're welcome," he breathed.

As he passed her to be with the rest of the dwarves, Firiel felt his large, rough, surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. Her eyes followed his face as he went by, studying him. She noticed in that moment that he had a rather large nose. It was strong though. It gave him the look of a great bird as it sat proudly on his handsome face.

Now, when Firiel thought of him as handsome, it wasn't the same sort of handsome his brother was. Fili's own unique brand of handsome was different from the fairy tale princeliness Kili sported. It was proud, and strong. So strong it made her chest constrict and her nether regions ache in a way she had not quite experienced before. But was it an addicting sensation. The fact that such a musing had been caused by Fili's huge nose, Firiel could definitely come to one conclusion about it.

She liked it.

* * *

Having gone off in search of her uncle, Firiel soon found him. He was hiding in his room while the dwarves enjoyed their pipes and some of her cakes by the warmth of the fire. She leaned on his doorframe, watching him. Bilbo was sitting on the end of his bed, his arm wrapped around the post as he stared out the window.

"So, are you going?"

Firiel was startled when he spoke. She hadn't even seen his mouth move. He continued to just stare out, not even looking at her.

"Yeah," she murmured, frightened to break their eerie silence, "I am. Fili has offered to ease Thorin's mind by "taking care" of me the whole trip. As if I need it."

"Do you like him?"

"He seems nice, so I guess so," she shrugged with a little laugh, "He'll bring my corpse home and pledge his services to my family if I kick the bucket, so that's pretty good news."

Bilbo finally looked at her, his eyes wide with shock.

"Oh…I see."

Though what she said had been true, Firiel laughed it off as though it were a joke.

"Got you," she winked, "So you're really not going?"

"I'm not cut out for adventures."

Firiel nodded.

"Are you going to write to my mother about it?"

"I'm not an idiot."

The two shared a little laugh. Firiel went and sat next to him on the end of the bed, putting her head on his shoulder.

"I'm going to miss you," she told him.

Bilbo paused, but soon smiled a little bit in spite of himself. He reached for her little hand, holding it like he used to when she was nothing more than a little hobbitling. He kissed the top of her curly head, resting his own head on top of hers. He could still remember the first time he had held her, his sister's first child. She had been so small, with big, bright eyes and hair far blonder than the colour it was now in her young adulthood. Her tiny little hands had grabbed hold of his finger, and he had fallen in love with that baby girl. He had forgotten that precious memory. Stored it in the back of his mind until this very night. He felt a tear come to his eye.

"I'm going to miss you too."

It was then they heard it, though they did not know what "it" was at first. It felt like a low vibration that rumbled through the air of their tiny hobbit hole. Straining her ears to hear, Firiel could finally pick up what it was. It was humming. The dwarves were singing again, but this time it was different.

Firiel quickly detached from her uncle and leaped off the bed, quietly rushing out to the living room. Her footfall was nearly silent, and that was for a hobbit.

The living room was full of smoke, and the air was thick with the smell of pipe-weed. It made her eyes sting and water a little, but it was only for a moment. She peered through the artificial fog and immediately spied Thorin. His naturally serious face had grown a different expression from the few variances she had seen from him that night. A haunted, somber look had come upon him, and, briefly, she was struck by his unusual beauty. Sadness seemed to nearly suit him, and she wondered how long it had been etched into his heart to seem that way. It seemed natural. He loomed over the fired, starting into the flames as though the ghosts of his mind swam through them. She looked about the room briefly, and immediately noted that many could not even gaze into the hearth.

"_Far over the misty mountains cold,_

_To dungeons deep, and caverns old,_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To find our long forgotten gold…"_

Firiel couldn't help how slack-jawed she had become when Thorin had begun to sing. His voice was deeper than any other she had heard, his tone gravelly at times, yet relaxed. Balin, who had joined him in the last line, left a bit to be desired. Though, as the others joined in, her mild disappointment was quickly alleviated.

"_The pines were roaring on the high,_

_The winds were moaning in the night,_

_The fire was red,_

_It flaming spread,_

_The trees like torches blazed with light…"_

The dwarves continued, many more verses flushing out a rather sad tale of greed and loss. Though she had heard the Men her father traded with speak of what beautiful singers hobbits were, they had clearly never heard a well-tuned dwarf. And Firiel would not pick out a single voice among them that was not. Where hobbits sang light and high, dwarves seemed deep and dark in tone. Even the higher, less skilled voices (Balin, Ori, Fili, and Kili, she realized) had a degree of depth to their tone that hobbits did not.

Midway through the tune, Firiel heard a light clearing of the throat to her left. She looked and saw Gandalf, smoking his pipe out the cracked picture window. He made eye contact, then motioned her to over with a slight tilt of his head. Firiel nodded, padding lightly to sit beside him on the window bench. The dwarves were so entranced in their song that they didn't notice. They finished their ballad, and soon a light bar tune took its place.

"So," Gandalf raised his brow at Firiel, "What do you think?"

He was referring to many things all at once, in Firiel's mind.

"About what?" she returned, "The song? Or these men?"

Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows with delighted humour.

"Well, that is the question, isn't it?" he laughed, a cloud of smoke escaping through his nostrils, "What do you think of your new companions?"

Firiel looked at the dwarves, considering each of them carefully. Their somber expressions had been replaced with the earlier ones of merriment, though Thorin remained serious as always. The seriousness never left his features, really. Dwalin was serious as well, though he at least smiled from time to time, his weathered face crinkling up and showing his resemblance to Balin. The others seemed alright; at least the ones who she had spoken with personaly. Ori was shy, but very polite. She knew she would need to have somebody along who had a little decorum. Bofur was a delightful soul, if rather blunt. A bit of a joker, but his earlier compliment had been sincere. Balin reminded her of her old grandfather Baggins before he had died; always popping up from nowhere with a grand old smile on his face. Kili seemed a charmer and a womanizer, though he was secretly very kind if one could see past that front. Fili seemed a less extreme version of Kili, though earlier she had seen the maturity and courtly aire that separated the two brothers in behavior and personality. Fili was obviously older, raised for matters of politics and duty to his people. Kili clearly had fewer responsibilities. But both were sweet as apple pie when it came right down to it.

"I think I like them," she decided, "They seem like good company."

"Good," Gandalf nodded, "You'll be living awfully close to them over the coming months. I must warn you though; they smell something fierce in the heat."

She laughed, and it drew some of the dwarves' attention. Quicker than a flash, Bofur had dropped his clarinet and pulled her from her seat. She looked back to Gandalf, a little alarmed, but the wizard chuckled and nodded her onward. She smiled in defeat and allowed herself to be pulled to the centre of the room. She would have been nervous. Would have been. Something prevented her from shrinking away from the light. Maybe it was Thorin's eyes that tested her every move. Or maybe it was the way Fili was watching her, the end of his pipe sitting languidly between his parted lips and his eyes resting on her as he leaned back against the cushions she was sure had belonged on one of the couches in some guest bedroom. There was that feeling again. She bit her lip, looking up at Bofur with uncertainty, and thanking her lucky stars that Thorin was behind her. Bofur seemed to catch on.

"You know the polka?" he asked her with a grin, as if he hadn't noticed her look.

"Oh yes, of course," Firiel smiled at him, recovering some of her nerve.

"Good," he grinned, "I'll lead, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"Alrighty, we're off to your right to start."

And so, with the bar song still playing, Bofur lead her off in the dwarvish polka, which turned out to be more like a hobbit's bar waltz. Just a simply waltz step with polka turns; no leaping required. It was light and fun, but not nearly so exerting as a true polka, nor as complicated as a waltz. She liked it a lot. They danced through one song, laughing every time Firiel would misstep or forget she was supposed to be following. A hand grasped Bofur's shoulder when they finished. It was Balin's.

"May I?" he asked, his eyes matching the smile that further wrinkled his face.

Bofur chuckled and gave a flourishing bow to both Balin and Firiel, heading back to his clarinet. Firiel presumed that the next song would be another waltz, and clearly she was not alone when the tune started.

"No, no my dear," Balin chuckled, "Let me teach you a few steps before we start. And then you need only follow my lead."

Firiel nodded, and the dwarves watched and waited patiently as Balin taught her these steps. One was a four step variation of a grapevine, another a four step turn, both of which ended with the heel of the foot to the ground and toes in the air. The third was a criss-cross sort of movement, in which one diagonal step was taken and a toe was pointed and then the feet reversed their roles. The partners moved in the same direction, meaning one moved forward, another back. The fourth, Balin said, was an opening and closing step, where they went in opposite directions, keeping one foot in the centre and pivoting around it in the same four step rhythm as the others.

"This is fascinating," Firiel marveled as she practiced the fourth step, "What is it called?"

"It's an old set of folk dancing steps," Balin smiled, "A party requirement amongst dwarves."

The eye rolling she caught from some of the others suggested it was more of an aristocratic party requirement, but she didn't mind. It was always fascinating for her to learn about another culture.

"You've got it now," Balin grinned, turning to the others and nodding.

The dwarves, who had been chatting and proving their unbelievable patience for such things, took up their instruments again. Balin nodded to Firiel, and once she nodded back, the music began. It was a little tough to keep track of the changing between steps, especially since the only contact one always has with their partner is joined hands, but Firiel quickly adjusted. The music was as bombastic as the bar tune, yet held certain elegance in its tonality that Firiel could not place. You could tell that, even with the earlier eye rolling, this was certainly a favourite. The other dwarves who were not intent on playing their instruments clapped and hooted and hollered along with the steps, creating quite a racket. Even Thorin seemed to lose a wrinkle in his brow as he finally managed to settle in to the room's large arm chair.

They made it through the first part of the song quite well, and so then the dwarves decided to have a little fun. All Firiel saw was Balin give a wink to the left, and smoother than silk, Dwalin stepped in the take his place. Firiel was surprised, but continued nonetheless. Dwalin was not as light on his feet as Balin was, so Firiel had much less trouble keeping up with him. And so it continued like that, with the dwarves who were not playing switching in to dance with her every verse or so. Bofur even handed his clarinet off to someone in order to get another turn, and soon the ones who played were doing the same thing. When one song ended, another song began quickly. At the fourth tune, she looked up from her confused and amused feet to find her dance partner was Kili.

"Finally decided to brave a dance with me?" Firiel grinned cheekily, "I may trample your toes."

Kili laughed heartily, taking up the lead. Firiel was impressed by how well he knew the dance. The others, aside from Balin, had not been nearly as graceful.

"You're very good," she said.

"Thank you," he grinned as the time came to take hold of her waist, "My mother taught this dance to my brother and I when we were very young. I'm surprised he hasn't come for his turn yet; Mother always teased that he was even better at it than me."

"Is that why you're so well practiced?"

"Exactly. I need to try and be better at something."

Firiel laughed a little, understanding completely. Her younger sister was particularly competitive with her, and she was certain that that was probably the same with Kili and Fili.

They soon focused on the dance, and Firiel found that she could actually close her eyes for a moment or two. During the four step spin, she found her hand briefly separated from Kili's, and she sort of scrambled for it for a moment. When she opened her eyes to find it again, she was greeted with the sight of Fili. The watchful eyes on her back were now facing her from the front, and it was so startling she lost her step. Fili quickly covered for her though by leading her back in so gracefully that it was barely noticed, confirming Kili's early praise at his skill.

"Thank you," she breathed, suddenly quite intent on her feet, "That was a lovely prelude Kili did there for you. It's proving quite true."

"Oh, you liked that?" his voice did the smiling for him, "I'll have to make sure it's a frequent thing any time I wish to impress you."

Firiel looked him dead in the eye at that point.

"You are aware I was partially mocking you, aren't you?

He laughed, taking her by surprise and heaving her up into a small, yet elegantly timed lift.

"Of course you are. I'd expect nothing less."

This dwarvish folk dance was much more tiring than their waltz, and Firiel soon began to feel her breath growing harsher. These men could have danced and played their instruments all night it seemed, but Firiel was no match for all of them. At the end of her dance with Fili, who was proving a most excellent partner in both dance and small talk, she smiled and bowed, stepping back from the makeshift dance floor.

"I'm afraid I am quite tired," she smiled sweetly at her new companions, "Perhaps we'll all get to dance again once your mountain has been reclaimed. But for tonight, I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave."

There were little groans and cries of protest from the dwarves.

"Feel free to continue with your merry making, and please sleep anywhere you choose tonight. Except my bed," she added when she saw Kili open his mouth, which caused the merry crowd to hoot with laughter.

"Well then, goodnight all. I'll see you again at dawn."

The company all bid her goodnight, watching her go as she headed off towards her room. As she passed Thorin, she turned and bowed her head towards him. In spite of how much she wished to be rather immature about it forever, she knew that from tomorrow onward he was her leader, and the two of them would have to get along. He stared at her for a moment, then returned her gesture with a begrudging nod, looking away and going back to his pipe. She realized then that the king was the only dwarf who had not danced with her. She paid it very little mind, of course. She looked over to Gandalf at his seat by the window, and they exchanged smiles that were the only communication needed. She liked the wizard greatly.

Once she had reached her room, Firiel simply threw back the covers and flopped down into her downy mattress. Curling tightly into a little ball, she snuggled one of her pillows underneath her head and above her arm. She would pack tomorrow morning before they left. All she would need was a backpack, some spare clothes, a blanket, some snacks, and a blank notebook with a bit of graphite.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **I apologize for all this non-canon, cultural stuff I keep throwing in, but Tolkien doesn't give us a lot to go off of in terms of the teenie-tiny details of dwarf culture.

* * *

The next morning, before dawn even arose, Firiel was packed and ready to go. She had risen extra early to take a bath (since she figured bathing would not be a regular event on this trip). She had grabbed what remained of the pantry's fruits and vegetables, the old blue blanket from out of the wardrobe, and she had just finished getting dressed.

Her travelling clothes that she had arrived at Bagg-End in would be the ones she wore as she left. A forest green bodice and overskirt that covered a longer reddish-brown skirt that came down to just above her ankles. Her favourite chemise, one that was a beige colour for the sake of dirt, was underneath, pinned down to her form by the ¾ length sleeves of the round-necked bodice. Only the frilled cuffs and neckline of the chemise remained on the outside of the bodice, looking more like the bodice's cuffs than parts of a shirt beneath. The buttons on the front of the bodice even matched the chemise in colour. A more neutral brown shawl was wrapped over her chest, to protect the skin exposed by the dipping neckline from the wind. They were probably not the most practical clothes for adventuring, but, as a merchant's daughter, they were all that she had for traversing over hill and dale. After tying her hair into a rather simple three-piece braid, she was ready to go.

Heading towards the door, she briefly turned for one last glance at her room. It looked the same as it did every morning, although this time she hadn't made the bed. It would give uncle something to fuss over when he awoke, and keep him busy so that he would hopefully not dwell on his loneliness. She smiled once more at grandmother's old rocking chair before she gently shut the door.

As she wandered into the living room, holding her faded green backpack and stuffing that blank notebook and graphite inside of it, she saw that the dwarves were already up and mostly packed. Thorin spied her first and eyed her attire, snorting a small yet degrading chuckle.

This was going to be a very long trip.

"Good morning, my dear," Balin smiled at her in the early morning, having taken off towards her with a new contract in his hands, "Here's your contract. Same as your uncle's. Just give us your emergency contact, and sign right down here."

Firiel took the piece of paper from him with an nod, turning towards the ink and quill on the desk to write out all the information, though found herself puzzling at the emergence contact. Surely that emergency contact should be her mother and father, right? She ruminated over it for a moment, and then decided against it. She instead put down the words, "_Mr. Bilbo Baggins. You know where to find him_." She signed her name on the dotted line, and stood straight, turning and handing it back to Balin. She watched a small smile grace his aged features before he nodded in satisfaction, folding it up and placing it in his red leather satchel.

"Welcome to the team," he told her quietly, before turning to head out with the others.

Firiel gazed around briefly at the mess they were leaving, then her uncle's slightly cracked bedroom door. She noticed that one of the dwarves had left a candle lit, and quickly blew it out before heading off behind her new friends.

* * *

"Are we all set to go?" she heard Thorin ask from the front of the pack.

Firiel, Gandalf, and the dwarves had all just taken a rather long hike out to the Brandywine Woods, where they had found fourteen ponies and a single horse awaiting them. Strange it was, that an intended party of fourteen required fifteen steeds. Firiel thought very little of it, of course, and had allowed old Balin to take her to one of the little ponies that was right next to his own. It was the only one amongst them that was lighter in colour; a little white Shetland with a rather lovely disposition. That didn't really sate her nerves though, due to the simple fact that she had never ridden such a beast before in her life. That pony dream she had been having seemed equal parts a reality and even more far fetched than she had previously imagined.

"Is everything alright my dear?" she heard him ask her.

"Fine," she smiled, never taken her eyes off the horse, "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you've been staring at that mount for near twenty minutes it would seem."

Firiel looked to where Balin had been standing seemingly moments before, only to find that nearly everyone but her was mounted and ready to go. And they were all staring at her, expectantly. Firiel looked between them and the pony.

"Right," she murmured to herself, "I can do this."

"Have you never ridden before, dear?" Balin asked her from atop his pony.

"Oh, well, not by myself," she admitted, starting off towards the pony.

The dwarves all made noises of impatience and irritation at that. Firiel stood by the animal, and pet its snout for a moment. She didn't want to startle the creature, and whispered little encouragements as she untied it from the tree and put her foot in the stirrup.

"Are you ready?" she asked it, grabbing hold of the saddle and preparing to pull herself up.

"Will you hurry up?" "Must women take so long at everything?" "We'll reach the mountain in twenty years at this rate!"

"Enough!" Thorin called back over his men, riding to Firiel's side to snap, "Are you capable of riding alone, or should you ride with one of my men?"

"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Oakenshield," Firiel told him sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the dwarf, "But please don't coddle me. I don't know the animal and it doesn't know me. I'm not insensitive you know."

With a great flourish of her skirt, and, to her relief, no trouble, Firiel pulled herself atop the pony, managing to land quite gracefully with everything in place. She smiled at her new leader, quite content with herself. The pony didn't even so much as stir with the change of weight.

"Good boy," she whispered, reaching to pat his neck before looking up at Thorin and giving him a smile, "Are we all set to leave?"

The dwarf prince looked at her a moment more, briefly studying her, and actually allowed the faintest hint of a smile to poke at the edge of his lips. It was gone so quickly that Firiel could have sworn it had never even been there. Thorin turned on his horse and quietly road back to the head of the party. In spite of first impressions, Firiel had to admit, the man was growing on her a bit. Just a bit though. Soon, the company was set, and they were on their way through the woods. The ride was relatively quiet, and strangely slow for a party in such a great deal of hurry.

"Are you alright, my dear?" came a voice to her right.

She looked to spy Gandalf, who had come up next to her on his horse.

"Oh yes," she nodded to him, "Perfectly fine, thank you Gandalf."

The two rode on in silence for a moment, the trot through the woods unbelievably quiet. Firiel was dreading the thought of the whole trip being this way, and debated on possible topics of conversation. Here she was, with a travelling wizard and a throng of dwarves from a lost kingdom, and she really only had one absolutely important question which had been bothering her since the night before.

"Why do dwarves wear their hair in braids?" Firiel asked Gandalf, startling the wizard a bit.

"Pardon me?" Gandalf asked her, giving her a most puzzled and incredulous look.

"I'm just wondering," she blushed a bit, looking down at the reins and running her thumbs nervously along them, "Is it like a badge of honour, or just a fashion preference?"

"They're a symbol," Fili answered in Gandalf's stead, falling back beside her as the wizard took the cue to ride on ahead to the lead of the party, "of whether or not we are grown."

Firiel furrowed her eyebrows at her newest conversation partner. What an interesting, if slightly silly concept. What if someone wanted to cut their hair and beard short, and leave both with no braids? Would he be disowned or considered a deviant? She conveyed her puzzled thoughts to Fili, who laughed and smiled sweetly at her. What a fun and interesting woman she was to him. He had never met a person who was quite as curious about something so trivial and strange.

"Alright, I'll explain it a bit," he said, edging his pony closer to her own, "You see how Kili, who is the youngest among us, does not have a single braid, while the rest of us do?"

"Yes."

"That means his coming of age ceremony has not occurred yet," he told her.

"Coming of age ceremony?"

"Yes. And when he finally comes of age, it is customary for a young dwarf to grow and braid his beard, and it remains that way until he dies, or is old enough in appearance that none should mistake him for a boy. It's preferential at that point."

"So, you have to grow and braid your beards?" Firiel wrinkled her little nose, "What happens if you don't?"

"Nothing really, though you may be teased as being a rebel," Fili smiled a bit, "Kili will probably change nothing when he does have his ceremony. And even then, times are changing, and it's becoming less of an important thing, and comes down to how much of a traditionalist you are."

"I see," she nodded, "So, why is it so important that you grow your beards to symbolize it? Is it an honour thing?"

"Well, partially. No young man wishes to be mistaken for a child. But it also serves the purposes of indicating to dwarfish women that we are old enough to breed with and marry," Fili gave her an adorably crooked smile and winked, "If you're in to that sort of nonsense."

Firiel blushed a bright red, smiling like a fool in spite of herself as she tried to gaze ahead and not at her laughing friend. It then crossed her mind that this young prince, heir to the throne of Erebor after Thorin, would probably, if not obviously, be looking for a wife. He probably already had one lined up for his return from their journey to reclaim said throne and kingdom.

_He will far out-live me anyways, even if he is already over a hundred years old._

Now where that that dreadfully intrusive thought emerged from? Firiel shook her head and chose to simply look ahead. She was about to immediately return to puzzling on those thoughts when she suddenly heard a very familiar voice.

"Wait! WAIT!" it cried.

That voice was Bilbo's. Her uncle had come after all. The whole company stopped at once, and immediately spied Bilbo, in his favourite, dark red coat, running after them down the forest path as though his bottom-end was on fire. Firiel could hardly believe her eyes, or contain her excitement.

He was coming after all.

As Bilbo came upon the party, he slowed to a steady stop, panting as if he had just run a hundred miles to get here. He suddenly thrust his contract into the air.

"I've signed it," he said, holding it high above his head as he went to hand it off to Balin.

Balin took the contract from his and pulled out his little spyglass, smiling as he read it over. Bilbo waited patiently, then looked to his young niece. Firiel was grinning from ear to ear, and waved at him from her pony. It didn't take Bilbo long to notice Fili riding so close to her, and a frown formed on his face. He glared up at the young dwarf, making the universal sign for "I'm watching you". Firiel and Fili looked to one another, stifling a laugh that seemed to bubble up between them. Firiel liked this kind of interaction between her and the blond dwarf. They could most definitely be friends.

"Everything appears to be in order," Balin said finally, "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"Give him a pony," Thorin order swiftly, turning and heading on.

The lot of them seemed much more pleased by Bilbo's presence than her own, but that only bothered Firiel a little. Her uncle was with her, and that was all that she needed. Although he was clearly not so thrilled about the prospect of riding on horseback. Once Bilbo was mounted (rather tensely, I might add, for he held his hands up near his face the whole time), they were on their way through the forest again. Firiel slowly wove her way back so as to keep close to her beloved uncle. He was remaining perfectly tense and still, looking to her occasionally through the corner of his eye. Firiel laughed a little at his antics.

"Uncle, it's not going to eat you," she told him, giggling as he reared back from the pony's shaking head, "Just relax."

Bilbo gave her a look that told her to knock it off, which caused her and Gandalf, who had come back to ride by them, to laugh. They rode on a moment more before the dwarves started to call back and forth to one another.

"Come on, Nori," she heard Oin call up from behind them, "Pay up!"

Nori reached into his robes and produced a little pouch of gold, throwing it all the way back to Oin's own pony. That seemed to start a chain, because soon, gold pouches were being flung back and forth.

"One more!" she heard Kili call.

"What's that about?" Bilbo turned to ask her and Gandalf.

"Oh, they took wagers as to whether or not you'd turn up," Gandalf told him, "Most bet that you wouldn't."

"And what about you two?" Bilbo asked, insulted.

"Hey, don't look at me," Firiel defended, "That pot must have been done while I was packing."

Suddenly, another pouch came flying back to them, and Gandalf caught it with ease. He smiled down at Bilbo, raising his cloud-like eyebrows and shaking the little pouch. Bilbo offered him a smile.

"My dear fellow," the old wizard chuckled, bouncing the bag up and down, "I never doubted you for a second."

Suddenly, her uncle gave a great sneeze, looking down at his hand afterwards in great disgust.

"Are you alright, Uncle?" Firiel asked him.

"Oh yes, I'm fine, darling," Bilbo waved her off, reaching into his pockets for a handkerchief, "It's horse hair. I'm having a reaction."

Bilbo didn't seem to find his handkerchief in the first pocket he checked, so he checked another, then another. He started to panic a little.

"No, wait, wait, STOP!" Bilbo cried, raising his hand as to gather everyone's attention as they all came to a halt, "Stop! We have to turn around."

"What on Earth is the matter?" Gandalf asked, rather irritated.

"I forgot my handkerchief," Bilbo told him frankly, still fluttering around for it.

"Here," Bofur told him, tearing a piece off his rather filthy shirt, "Use this."

He tossed the rag back to Bilbo, who nearly threw it down in disgust. Firiel could hardly blame him, and soon managed to dig out on of her own, handing it to her poor uncle. The dwarves all gave a laugh and they turned to head off again. Firiel shook her head, allowing Bilbo and Gandalf to go ahead as the wizard began to lecture him on all the comforts he would be living without on their journey. Soon, she was in the back with Fili and Kili. The brothers, one on each side, greeted her joyfully, quickly striking up a conversation about the lands they were going to ride through.

"Are we going to pass through your home?" Kili asked her.

"You've already been there," she told him.

"He means your real home," Fili clarified.

"Where you grew up," Kili said.

"You haven't lived in that valley forever," Fili declared, "And we think it would be rather interesting to see where you grew up."

Firiel frowned at the two brothers, and felt panic rise within her at the thought of her, a well-known daughter of a well-known merchant, passing through Bree in the company of twelve dwarves, her uncle who was keeping her fugitive behind housed, and a large wizard. She would be spotted immediately, and quite possibly dragged off. But, calculating their route, Bree would not be on their tour out of the Shire. That would be the long, unnecessary road.

"I'm afraid not," she lied to the two in the regard of her feelings on the matter, "Not much to see in Bree anyways."

"Oh, you grew up in Bree?" Kili asked, his brows furrowed and his eyes unbelieving, "Really?"

It gave Firiel pause for a moment.

"You've been there?" she asked him slowly.

"Often," Fili told her, "Part of my duty is to oversee market trade with other lands and kingdoms. I just got to conduct my own deal last month. Uncle wants to make sure I can handle the responsibility of trade properly, in all aspects."

Firiel felt a suspicious and panicked inkling rise up in her throat, but quickly shoved it aside. Her father had traded for dwarvish tools. He never said he had traded with a dwarf. The inkling was quickly forgotten.

"Well, what's so surprising about me having grown up there?" Firiel asked Kili, discretely winding away from the subject at a slow pace.

"Well…" "It's just so…"

"Dreary," the brothers said at once.

"Nothing like you," Kili complimented.

"You seem so free-spirited," Fili added on, "Too free-spirited for such a small place."

"And brave," Kili continued, "It's not easy to stand up to Thorin."

"Our uncle can be a bit intimidating," Fili nodded.

"But it seems he likes you," Kili smiled, "Even if he'll never admit it."

Firiel furrowed her eyebrows.

"How could he like me?"

"He finds bravery and familial loyalty quite impressive," Fili said, "Not to mention you really haven't been any trouble.

"Which reminds me," he grinned suddenly before calling out, "Nori, second wager's done, pass'em out!"

"Oh, that's right," Kili grinned, "Mine as well please!"

"Oh yes, and mine," she heard Ori cry from far ahead.

The three purses were tossed out with all the others grumbling amongst themselves. Gandalf received one as well as Firiel frowned at the brothers.

"What "second wager"?" she demanded.

"Well, if Master Baggins did show up, we bet on who would be the first to demand we turn back for something trivial," Kili grinned, weighing his new purse.

"Most of them bet it would be you," Fili admitted, a bit more embarrassed by it than his brother.

"But not us!" he cried when he saw the look of irritation cross her face.

"No, never us," Kili chimed, "We're your friends, after all."

"With friends who profit from the merit of my actions, who needs enemies," she smirked, "But thank you. I appreciate that."

On they rode through the rolling country-side, a fair deal more South of Bree than she had anticipated, Firiel noticed in great relief. As they rode through the hills and woodlands, Firiel spoke with the two brothers about nonsensical things, like why the sky could be blue, and what sort of old tales their mother used to tell them when they were growing up.

"Oh, do you remember the story about the human girl that mother used to tell to us?" Kili said with excitement at one point, "The one that the Elves wanted to kidnap because they found her beautiful?"

"Yes, and take her to their eternal country in the East," Fili said, then quickly explained, "They tried to seduce her, but the girl saw that the life of an Elf was truly cursed, and instead fights them off."

Firiel started, and frowned. That story she knew, and that wasn't the version she knew at all.

"That's not the way the elves tell it," she said.

"What?" "Of course they would tell it differently." "Tricky bastards they are."

Firiel laughed. There was clearly no lost love there.

"How would you know how elves tell that story?" Kili asked her, "Have you ever met one?"

"Well, no," Firiel admitted, "But I've read about them. That story is from a journal kept on the bookshelf back at my home, for me, and the elves tell it as them inviting the girl, and her pure humanity holding her back. My mother named me after that story."

"The Ballad of Firiel," Fili grinned, his eyes alighting with recognition, "It was one of my favourites as a boy, though I think you'd like the dwarvish version much better."

"Lots of action," Kili's eyes were big and child-like, as though he was watching the battle with his own eyes.

"Our Firiel is the master of her own destiny," Fili smiled down at her, "Nobody was going to talk her into a life she didn't desire."

"That sounds wonderful!"

Firiel was in delighted awe. She grabbed hold of Fili's arm, not really noticing she had done so. But he sure noticed. He looked down at where she touched him unexpectedly, his skin prickling with warmth and uncertain delight.

"Would you tell it to me?" Firiel asked him sweetly, "Please?"

Fili looked back up at her, and found himself utterly entranced. She looked so excited, her eyes alight and her cheeks and face glowing brightly. As much as Fili had found her attractive since meeting her, he had not realized to what extent this attraction had taken root in his core. His head felt light when she smiled at him, and when she looked him in the eye, they actually connected. It was strange, and beautiful. And frightening. Kili making kissy faces behind her head brought Fili out of his reprieve.

"Uhm," he sputtered out quickly, embarrassed and confused but unable to refuse her, "Ye-yeah, sure. Tonight, if you'd like. Once we've stopped for the evening."

Firiel's smile grew even bigger, and she squeezed his arm in gratitude. As she sped off ahead to talk with her uncle again, Kili drew in close to his brother.

"You like her," he taunted, elbowing Fili.

"Shut up," Fili threw back, though the smile that he found on his face depicted anything but anger.

"You like her," Kili continued, almost in a singsong voice, "You like her hairy little feet, and her delicate little hands, and her hairless little face, and her big green eyes-."

"Knock it off," Fili nudged his brother in return.

He watched her riding on ahead, talking to Bilbo with great enthusiasm. Although some of the others couldn't see her strength, she was still delighted to be here. Off to explore the world, and make new friends. And enemies. He knew that was yet to come, and probably inevitable. He had heard the rumours Thorin had spoken of the night before. And they were spreading like wildfire. Soon all of Middle Earth would know what they did, and it wouldn't be long before they had some rather unfriendly competition.

He watched the dark blonde curls that were loose from her braid bouncing as she rode, the way the soft lines of her neck and jaw moved as she spoke. Her eyelashes, long and blonde at their ends, fluttered with ever blink of those enthusiastic eyes. She was so bright. He briefly prayed that light would never go out.

* * *

It surprised Firiel that it had only taken a full day of riding to leave the definite land of the Shire and come upon the woods and valleys of the land beyond. She didn't know what this place was called, since geography had never really interested her, but she knew she had left home. The trees were dark, and wet, with bark that was peeling, and not as much warm sunlight as she was used to. The hills and rocks were harsher, steeper, but altogether not unpleasant. This land was different, but she liked it too. They were clearly heading off towards some mountain ranges that she could always spy in the distance. The Misty Mountains, if she had heard the dwarves' song correctly.

They stopped for the night on a well-shielded cliff, with a small cave in the large rock wall against it where a fire could easily be hidden. There were still trees and greenery all around them, making it a rather strategic spot to rest. Dwalin had told her whilst they had all been eating that they would soon run out of shelters this opportune. There were many places to stop like this in the valleys, but, once they reached the Misty Mountains, there would only be caves with untold inhabitants.

Later into the evening, as most of the dwarves had gone off to sleep, Firiel found that she could not. It wasn't the fact that she had to sleep in the company of so many strangers (for, by this point, most of them were not strange at all). It was the ground. It was hard and cold and the roots dug up into her back. The dwarves avoided it by all cuddling together, but that was something she hadn't been invited along for. Instead, she sat by the fire, between Kili and Fili (Kili whittled whilst Fili smoked his pipe) in the small indented cave, eating an apple that she had brought in her bag. These dwarves ate a greasy gruel for dinner that made her insides hurt and her body feel heavy, so she had to eat something good for her. The brothers had teased her briefly when she pulled it out, but she had scoffed at them. They could die young of heart failure if they wanted to.

It soon seemed that Firiel was not the only one who couldn't sleep. From his place, Bilbo had been tossing and turning for a while until he finally got up, moving around and shaking his legs. Gandalf, who had been leaded up against a far tree, smoking away, turned at the sudden shift in activity. Bilbo took one quick stretch and then headed off towards his pony. Firiel grinned when she could just make out her uncle removing a little round fruit from his pocket as he pet and cooed to the animal. That man was a never-ending softie.

Suddenly, there was a violent screeching in the distance. Those among them who were awake stilled, listening to the horrendous sound. It was like the screams of the tortured and dying. The brothers looked up from their tasks and out towards the foggy lands below the cliffs. They had unconsciously reached for their weapons, Fili his swords and Kili his bow. Firiel shuddered, unconsciously cuddling closer towards the back of the rocks, and Fili. He looked down at her, placing his hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Firiel may have been intent on not needing a protector, but she knew that she could not fight. If the danger came upon them, she had no weapons, and Fili (her Thorin assigned protector) was unfortunately her best defense. To her own personal irking, she felt much safer in his company.

"What on Earth…?" she murmured, shivering at the sound as it ran through the air again.

"What was that?" Bilbo turned back from the ponies to ask, pointing out into the darkness.

Kili seemed to be listening intently, though he paled as the identity of the noise came to him.

"Orcs," he said slowly.

Fili looked up at his brother again quite suddenly, and the two shared a look. Firiel felt a small gasp go past her lips. Fili stopped to assess the howls for himself and reassuringly rubbed her shoulder again, then leaned back again and put his pipe back up to his mouth.

"Orcs?" Bilbo whisper-shouted, tiptoeing back towards them in a mild panic.

As if the word were ingrained in his system, Thorin, who had been resting against some boulders outside the cave, started awake.

"Throat-cutters," Fili told Bilbo with a nod, "There'll be dozens out there. The lone-lands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone is asleep," Kili continued, deathly serious, "Quick and quiet. No screams. Just lots of blood."

Bilbo and Firiel both paled at the news. When Bilbo turned back out to look into the beyond, Fili and Kili looked at one another and started to chuckle. Firiel, who had been sitting stiff, soon received a tickle from Kili, whom she swiftly kicked in return, and soon the three of them were chuckling together.

"You think that's funny?" Thorin asked them suddenly.

The three fire-side companions and Bilbo looked at Thorin, who was now stalking towards them. His eyes were serious.

"You think a night-raid by orcs is a joke?" he asked them.

Kili and Fili immediately looked down, instantly ashamed.

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili defended weakly.

"No, you didn't," Thorin scoffed down at them before turning off towards the edge of the cliff, "You know nothing of the world."

As Thorin stalked of past Gandalf, Balin came towards their little group. Kili still had his head lowered, whereas Fili seemed to have shaken it off much better.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin told Kili, coming to leave against the side of their hovel, "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

Firiel looked up after Thorin, watching him as he stared off into the mists.

"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain," Balin began, "King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria.

"But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs led by the most vile of all their race: Azog The Defiler."

Firiel shuddered again. She could only imagine how he had gotten that name. The dwarves who had once been sleeping were roused by the story, and slowly they began to stand, listening to Balin's tale.

"The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin," Balin continued, "He began…by beheading the king.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us," despite his words, Balin then smiled, "That is when I saw him."

The old dwarf looked out at Thorin, a proud smile on his face.

"A young dwarf prince," he continued, growing louder and more excited with every word, "facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armour rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield.

"Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken.

"Our forces rallied, and drove the orcs back. And our enemy had been defeated," Balin's smile faded then, "But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow.

"There is one," Balin looked back out towards Thorin, "I could call "king"."

It was then that Thorin turned back to their little encampment. The other dwarves all had stood, and faced him now. Their leader; their king. He began back towards the fire, and all he passed parted like the red sea, awe on their faces.

"And, the Pale Orc?" Bilbo asked, clearly enthralled by the tale, "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole from whence he came," Thorin said darkly, heading back to his place by the boulders, "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

At that, Gandalf and Balin looked to one another, and shared a look that was not lost on Firiel. They did not look nearly so sure as Thorin.

Soon, everyone settled in for the night, and Fili was to take first watch. Kili offered to stay up with him, but he told his younger brother to get to bed. Everyone lay down to sleep, and it seemed they all felt safe under the skies with someone to watch. Soon, everyone was asleep, but Firiel found that she still could not sleep. She sat up from her place next to her uncle, and looked around. Fili was sat in by the fire, his eyes taking in everything, calculating. When he saw Firiel sitting curled up amongst the sleepers, he waved her over with a grin. The young she-hobbit didn't think twice before joining him.

"Why hello there," he smiled at her as she sat with him, "Still couldn't sleep after such a harrowing tale?"

"I take it you've heard it many times?" she asked him, curling up under the blanket she had brought over with her.

"Oh yes," the prince nodded, "Kili and I have both heard it many times. It's always the best when Balin tells it though."

"Yes," she nodded, "I can definitely see that."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Fili extended his hand and offered her his pipe, but she shook her head no.

"You'll kill yourself if you keep eating and smoking the way you do," she said, her voice holding an obvious teasing tone, "You'll soon look like Bombur and cough like Gandalf."

Fili gave a quiet chuckle, not wishing to wake the others.

"And why should my habits concern you?" he asked.

Firiel paused at that question. Why were they any of her concern?

"I'm sorry," she muttered, "I don't mean to order you around. I just like the thought of good people living long, healthy lives and going when their time comes.

"And besides," she coughed a bit, choking on some of his smoke that blew into her face, "It makes my eyes sting a bit, to be honest."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, quickly putting it out, "You should have told me so in the first place."

"It's fine," she told him, waving it off, "I didn't want to impose on you. It's kind of a hobbit thing. Besides, the pipe-weed from the Shire doesn't bother me at all, so I didn't think your tobacco would. Thank you for putting it out though."

They fell into silence again, looking out into the night. The screeching they had heard earlier in the evening began again, and Firiel curled up into herself.

"Why do they make that horrid noise?" she asked Fili, glaring out into the fog, "To what purpose do they wake everything in the land?"

"It's their victory cry," Fili told her, looking out in the same direction with watchful eyes, "They make it every time they find someone's camp to rob, something to destroy, somebody to torture. They're vile."

"My books never mentioned such details," she shuddered, "Have you ever seen them before?"

"Oh yes," Fili nodded, hanging the unlit pipe between his lips out of habit, "They're ghastly. They look like carnage, and smell like death. My uncle and I came across a band whilst we were traveling when I was a bit younger. Kili had stayed home with our mother, so he does not quite know what to expect."

"I see," she whispered.

Another howl pinged through the mists, and Firiel could not take how far she had sat from her only waking companion. She quickly stuffed her pride away, and all her reservations, and crawled closer to Fili, sitting so close their legs almost touched. He watched her, his eyes and face holding an expression she found unreadable. The same expression he'd had when he watched her dance.

"What?" she asked him plainly.

"Well, I see even the boldest among us allow their fear to show sometimes," he said to her with a small smile, his voice seemingly dropping a fifth or so, "Would you like to sit a little closer?"

Something settled into Firiel's stomach that made her uncertain. That confounded warmth that ran through her when she looked at him was taking over, but she wouldn't let it beat her just yet. She wanted him to work for it.

"No thank you," Firiel said to him, fully intending to stay where she was, "I think I'll be just fi-."

Another screeching howl cut across her, and this one sounded closer than all the others. As if it was on the next cliff. Firiel leapt forward without thinking, diving over Fili's lap and grabbing for one of his swords in a rather ungraceful fashion. The sexual tension was broken, and Fili found himself laughing at her.

"You're a real graceful one, aren't you?" he whispered once he calmed himself down, pushing his blade back from her little hands and ruffling her hair.

"Maybe I am," she muttered back harshly, sitting up and unknowingly between his legs, "How can you be so calm?"

"Well, if you listen very closely, you'll be able to hear how far away they are and where it's coming from," he smiled reassuringly, "Next one, try to judge how far it is and where it is."

And so, they sat still, waiting quietly. When the next howl came, Firiel stifled her fear, intent on her task, closed her eyes and opened her mind. It was farther away than the one she had just heard, but it was coming from the same direction. However close they had been, they were heading away now.

"They're leaving," she said, opening her eyes to look at Fili, "They're heading back the way they came."

"You're right," he nodded, "Probably found all they needed for the night and headed off."

"Thank goodness," she muttered, crawling back to her earlier spot, "I don't think I could have handled that sort of trouble on our first day."

"Oh what? You're leaving me now?" he grinned at her, "But we were getting so cozy."

Firiel stuck her tongue out at him, readjusting her blanket to cover herself again.

"You get cozy often enough without me," she shot back, "I'm sure you can handle a little dry spell. I'm not your playmate."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean... Is that really what you think?" he asked her.

Now why had she said that? Those were some pretty loaded words, given how they had met. She looked back at him. Why had these confounded feelings come upon her so suddenly? As they looked at each other, she hated every wrong word she had ever said in her life. It was frustrating, irritating, and terrifying above all else. Suddenly he smiled at her, though his eyes were still hurt.

"If that's the case, then what can I do to prove you wrong?"

Firiel titled her head at him, puzzled. After all that he had done for her already, sticking up for her and believing in her when no one else would, she was beginning to wonder when his kindness would run out. She couldn't think of a single thing she had ever done in her life to deserve this kind of thing. This kind of instantaneous understanding and connection that so many have never experienced. She'd read about it in books, but, until meeting him, had never believed such a thing could ever be true. Books were not reality.

But, in that moment, she didn't care.

"Well," she smiled at him, "You can start by telling me the dwarvish version of "The Ballad of Firiel"."

And so he did.

From their resting place by a large oak tree, a rather unexpected pair of ears had picked up on the two companions, and their owner smiled to himself a bit. The old wizard listened intently to the tale Fili wove for Firiel, and grinned at the few personalized touched that were added just for the little she-hobbit's reactions (which were obvious since the wizard knew this one quite well). Oh yes, Gandalf thought to himself, he had done well.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, they were off again. This time through the pouring rain. That was most definitely unpleasant. Despite the constant griping from the others to find shelter, they pressed on through the weather. The ponies smelled worse than anything in the rain, as if their hair was already starting to grow mildew. Everyone and everything was absolutely drenched. Firiel was soaked to the bone. She could feel her everything, even her own skin, sticking to her in the most unpleasant way imaginable. It was torturous. And, unlike the others, she couldn't really hang her clothes out to dry later. She rode in line just in front of Bilbo, and a couple behind Gandalf.

"Here, Mr. Gandalf," someone called up to him from their line, "can't you do something about this deluge?"

"It is raining, Master Dwarf," the wizard called back, "And it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

"Are there any?" Firiel called up to him.

"What?"

"Other wizards."

"There are five of us," Gandalf replied, "The greatest of our order is Sarumon the White. Then there are the two Blue Wizards….

"Do you know I've quite forgotten their names," Gandalf said, his age actually showing for once.

"And who is the fifth?" Bilbo asked him as the rain was beginning to let up.

"Well, that would be Radagast the Brown," Gandalf replied jovially.

"Is he a great wizard?" Bilbo asked him straight, "Or is he more like you?"

Firiel snorted a bit to herself, though Gandalf did not seem insulted.

"I think he's a very great wizard," Gandalf replied, "In his own way. He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East. And a good thing too."

"Why do you say that, Gandalf?" Firiel inquired.

"Because, my darling, evil will always look to find a foothold in this world."

The wizard was ever the enigma, it seemed. And that also seemed to be the only real conversation for a while. They continued to ride along through the woods, until the rain finally stopped. Everyone sighed in relief as the last droplets finally fell to the earth. And immediately began asking when they would stop.

"We're soaked to the bone!" "How much longer until dark?" "Where will we camp?" "My feet are wet."

"Enough," Thorin called out, clearly as exhausted and waterlogged as the rest of them, "We'll stop once we find a safe place off the road. The woods aren't good for stopping, but the road is worse. Dismount.

And so they all did. Everyone got right off their horses and headed off into the woods. Firiel was about to do the same when Thorin's voice stopped her.

"Miss Firiel," he called, "You and Gandalf shall wait here on the road and watch the horses, so that we may have a marker to return to."

Firiel groaned, irritated from the rain and wind, and her sticky clothes. It did not escape Thorin's keen ears, and he gave her a look. His ever so kingly "just do it" look, she would call it from there on end.

As the others all headed off into the woods, Firiel rode up next to Gandalf. She exchanged glances with the wizard, finding they were both a little irritated at being ordered around. It's not as though Thorin was _their_ king. The two waited for a while until they heard someone give a shout. They waited for everyone to return, and soon everyone was off to follow Dwalin through the woods, leading their ponies carefully. It appeared Dwalin had found a rocky area near the river, which was quite a fantastic spot indeed. The rock twisted up into a huge ceiling, which covered a relatively flat, and, thanks to the ceiling, dry patch of stone. They could easily get dry and make a fire. If they found some dry kindling, that is. That would be the survival trick; getting a warm fire going before night came and they all froze to death. It's a good thing that forests block some of the wind that would whip over valleys, or their situation would be much worse.

"We'll camp here for the night," Thorin declared, clearly irritated by the short amount of travel that had occurred today (though it could not be helped), "A few of you set up while the rest of us try to find some dry kindling. Dwalin, bring your ax. We may have to gut a tree."

It soon seemed that it was only herself, Bilbo, and Gandalf who were to be left to set up camp. She couldn't really blame them; dry kindling would be nearly impossible to find, and, if they did find a tree with dry enough insides after that downpour, it would take all of them to carry it back. The dwarves all tied their ponies and most had already headed off when Fili began to make his way towards Firiel, who was just about to tied her own pony, whom she had just discovered was named Marco, to a tree that she thought had a marvelous feast of forest grass growing around it. She smiled at Fili as he approached her, stopping short of her task as he stood less than a foot from he. He removed something from one of his belts, and gently extended his arm towards her.

"Here," Fili said, handing her a sheathed blade and taking her reins, "I thought you might like this, since you don't seem to have a weapon."

Firiel unsheathed the gift and saw it was a hunting knife. And a beautiful one at that. The blade curved like the waves of the sea, and, though it was clearly simple steel, it was so expertly crafted you could have sworn the smith had been working with a far more precious metal. Ever contour was perfect. The oak wood hilt would have almost been a little short for a dwarf, given the size of their hands, but for Firiel it was perfect. On the blade was a neatly placed inscription, thought it was in a language Firiel did not speak. She lifted the blade above her head, gazing up at it with fascination. Fili found it a simple blade, but to Firiel it was spectacular.

"Thank you so much," she awed, looking back at Fili as he tied her pony up for her, "What does it say?"

"Be safe," he didn't even need to look up from his task to tell her that, "It was given to me by my mother before I left. It's not much, but it'll bring you a little comfort in the night."

A gift from his mother. And now a gift to her, for her fears of what lay out in the wilds of this world. She could see it was precious to him. His entire face softened when he spoke of his mother.

"You must love her very much," she watched in foxy delight as his handsome face went red as beets.

"Well, she is my mother," he said as he finished tying the reins, "She's a very strong woman, and a very great leader. I love and admire her very much."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Firiel smiled at him, "What's her name?"

"Dis," he replied, standing at full height again, "And she is. I could tell you about her once I return, if you would like."

"I'd like that," she said.

"Fili, come on," Kili called him, "You can flirt later!"

Firiel and Fili both laughed at that. Firiel thanked him once again, and they smiled at one another before saying a quick goodbye. As Fili headed off into the woods with his brother, Firiel stared down at the knife once again. Did she know how to use it? She hadn't the foggiest idea. Would it help her to feel safer in the wilderness? She caught her reflection in it briefly, and found that it was working already. As she turned back and headed into their shelter, she was met with the sight of Gandalf and Bilbo laying out their blankets to dry. She soon began to do the same, and found herself once again heading out the ponies in order to start gathering the dwarves' blankets and cloaks. When Gandalf saw her coming back with a bundle nearly past her eyes, he puzzled at her.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Bilbo asked her, stopping from setting out his own things to dry.

Firiel stopped to stare at her uncle for a moment, as if it were supposed to be obvious. She then quickly threw them down and set herself to work.

"What do you mean?" she asked her uncle as she unrolled Bifur's soaked quilt and laid it out flat.

"I mean, what on Earth are you doing with all those blankets?"

"I'm laying them out to dry," she smiled, continuing to flatten out the blankets in her pile, "If I've learned anything about these dwarves, they'll just throw them down and hope they dry. Then they'll get all moldy, and it'll just be a disaster."

Gandalf gave a choked laugh from his little corner of the stone shelter, snorting smoke out of his nose. For someone who had been left to set up, the wizard was awfully stationary.

"Well, they already smell, so I doubt the mold'll do too much harm," Bilbo shrugged.

"I'd rather they didn't smell any worse," Firiel returned just as casually, "And besides, I don't want anyone to be cold because their stuff isn't dry. It's a horrible thing to be out in the cold."

About an hour later, the dwarves finally returned with a massive pine tree they had skinned. They all took turns stripping and gutting it, and, by the end, they hoped they would have enough wood to probably keep a rather large fire going that night. The dwarves who were not working on the tree would come to look at their blankets and cloaks, which were already beginning to dry out even in the damp air. The first few dwarves who came forward would without fail thank Bilbo or Gandalf, who in turn would always direct their praise towards Firiel. The others were quick to catch on, and they all thanked her for it.

"Not a problem," was her reply every single time.

Soon, the pine tree was dissected, and the dryer wood and sticks were brought to the centre of their encampment, and the fire was made. The wood that had been too wet for the fire had been set separately from everything else to hopefully dry out for use in the wee hours of the morning. Once they had made the fire, Kili took up his bow and headed towards the river. With his arrows alone, he managed to catch enough fish for all of them. He was very skilled with his bow, and Firiel briefly wondered what he would be like in battle. She had pondered this about all the others too, for clearly some of them had seen battle, even without the old war stories that Dwalin and Balin delighted in sharing. She noticed that, as they were roasting their fish over the fire, some of her less friendly travelling companions actually seemed to fancy having a chat with her. Even ones like Gloin, who kept with their brothers and were none too pleased with the idea of conversation. Even Dwalin was beginning to open up more, though his conversations were just as serious.

"I see that little knife you've got there," the gruff dwarf said to her whilst turning his trout over on his stick, "You know that won't do you much good in battle, don't you? It looks more like a toothpick than a weapon."

She knew he meant it from a good place, and that he was really just wondering if she would be alright defending herself if they found trouble.

"I like it," she defended the gift, "It's a lovely knife, and it's really all I need."

* * *

After ten more days of riding, to Firiel's absolute relief, they had finally begun to near the foot of the Misty Mountains. Those mountains were much farther away than they had ever looked on their first day of travelling, and it was beginning to feel like they would never reach them. Throughout their whole trip, the snaps and howls of orcs could be heard for miles in the night, and her nerves were wearing rather thin from lack of sleep. The precious few hours she did get were usually when Fili took watch. She didn't know what it was, but she would always doze right off when he got up for his shift, the hunting knife he had given her usually curled in one fist tightly against her chest. Perhaps because she knew it was his job to protect her. Or maybe it was that they had become rather good friends over the last week and a half. It wasn't just Fili she had become good friends with though.

Ever since she went out of her way to start drying all those blankets and cloaks, the dwarves had all gone out of their way at least once to be kind to her, or at least learn a little bit more about her. And she had learned much about them in return. Bifur had actually been a toy-maker after the collapse of Erebor, and apparently made very lovely rocking horses. Gloin had a wife and a son named Gimli, who had wanted to come along even though his father said he was too young. His brother, Oin, revealed himself to be particularly fond of her and her uncle, siting how lovely it was to meet such gentle folk on occasion. She learned that Ori was actually a scribe, and had seen some of his common-tongue translations of his writings about their journey. He had blushed when she reached his description of her and had abruptly taken the scroll back, saying something about that part not quite being ready yet.

"It's very hard to translate descriptions," he had stammered and fiddled with the scroll, "There are words we have in Kazdul that aren't quite as appropriate descriptions in common tongue."

Dori, Ori and Nori's eldest brother, was incredibly strong. Firiel had been amazed when he had lifted a bolder to display his utter strength of body. But he was also strong of character; usually the first to go out of his way to assist his friends. Bombur, although it was joked he would eat anything, actually had a rather fine taste for gourmet foods and foreign delicacies. Bofur was his brother, and from him she had learned that he and his brother were not actually from Erebor, and that they had simply come along for the thrill of adventure and the chance to help their friends. She learned that Balin, as fatherly as he seemed, had no wife or children of his own, which seemed a great waste of such a gentle spirit to her. He seemed sad about it at the time, but had stated that he had his brother, and that was all he needed. Dwalin, that very brother, remained rather tight lipped, but he had actually attempted to teach Firiel how to use her knife throughout their trip. She had the forward and reverse grips down a to science by the time they reached the Misty Mountains, and he had offered to teach her more.

"Of all the blades that boy carries," Dwalin had sworn to himself the night before this one, "He gives you the most useless one. You couldn't fight off a thing with something that little."

Firiel honestly didn't know how she would fare in battle with it, but she at least had some idea what she was doing now.

Getting back now to this very day, on which they reached to foot of the Misty Mountains, the company had just come upon the small ruins of a tiny cottage set upon the large clearing of a rolling hill. The wood did not look nearly old enough to be bent and broken the way it was, which did not sit well with Firiel. She was going to have to push those thoughts aside though, for there seemed no better place to camp for the evening. They needed one more night's rest before they tackled those unfriendly mountains. But Firiel could not shake the feelings this place gave her. Something bad had happened here.

"We'll camp here for the night," Thorin announced from the lead, preparing to dismount, "Fili, Kili, look out after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them. They'll be a beacon if they're out in the open with us."

Everyone dismounted as Thorin continued to hand out tasks. Firiel soon noticed that Gandalf was wandering into the ruined home, his shoulders tense and his steps light and alert. He seemed as unsure about this place as she was. Handing her reins off to Bilbo quite quickly, she rushed to the wizard's side. She felt exactly what he was feeling as soon as she set foot inside the remainders of the cottage. There was death and dread hanging in the air, almost too fresh to be very old at all. There were great scrapes out of the straw floor, and a little girl's doll lay thrown in a corner on the floor.

"What is this place, Gandalf?" she asked him, "What happened here?"

"A farmer and his family used to live here," the wizard answered vaguely, continuing to stare about the space with a worried look on his face, "Do you feel that as well?"

Firiel nodded, padding slowly over to the little doll. It seemed a little big from a hobbit, but she could only imagine how small that little daughter of man had been. She knelt forward and picked up the doll, noting all the care that had been put in to that toy. It was well loved, which she could see from the wearing on some of the cloth skin. The hair was brown yarn, the eyes were dark buttons (that were clearly not from the same set), and the little dress was made of sheep's wool. Turning the abandoned toy over in her hand a few times, Firiel quickly decided that she liked it a lot, and discretely placed it in her backpack. Perhaps she could someday sew it a new dress and give it to her own children.

"I think it would be wiser to move on," she heard Gandalf call out to Thorin, "We could make for the Hidden Valley."

"I have told you already," Thorin said quietly, stepping into the space with them, "I will not go near that place."

Firiel looked at the two and saw that Thorin was seemingly unaffected by the place as he wandered about it, and that he clearly did not notice the aura it gave off. The others seemed just as blissfully unaware. She curled closer to the corner where the doll had been, electing to remain still and silent. Thorin did not seem to notice her presence either, although she was sat in very plain view. She wondered then to what extent other creatures could not notice a hobbit who did not wish to be seen.

"Why not?" Gandalf asked him, "The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."

"I do not need their advice," Thorin grumbled, staring into the old farmhouse's stone fireplace.

"We have a map that we cannot read," Gandalf reasoned rather calmly, as though speaking to a petulant child, "Lord Elrond could help us."

Thorin looked back at Gandalf impatiently, as though his reasons were obvious.

"Help?" Thorin nearly spat, "A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the elves?"

Now at this time, Firiel did not know the whole story of that fateful day these dwarves had lost Erebor. She knew only that a dragon had overtaken their kingdom, and that it had been lost. She had no other knowledge of the other events surrounding that day until that very moment. She could now guess as to Thorin's reluctance to ask for their help.

"Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls," Thorin continued, advancing on the wizard, "The elves looked on and did nothing. And you ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather? Who betrayed my father?"

"You are neither of them," Gandalf told him gently at first, yet his intensity of tone grew with every word, "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past."

"I did not know that they were yours to keep," Thorin returned angrily.

Gandalf sighed, very much aware of the fact that Thorin would never be reasoned with. The wizard turned away and stormed out of the cottage, heading off back towards the the others in a great hurry. Firiel, not wishing to remain in those little ruins without the wizard, stood from her hiding place and rushed after him. She did not see Thorin visibly jump as she ran past him. Balin and Bilbo, who had been fawning over Marco, looked up once they heard Gandalf storming towards them.

"Is everything alright?" Bilbo asked as Gandalf shot off right past him, "Gandalf, where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one who's got any sense around here," the wizard spat, quickly making his way through the rest of the company and back to his horse.

"And who's that?"

"Myself, Mr. Baggins!"

Gandalf, as quickly as he had come, mounted his horse and took off into the woods. Firiel had paused by her uncle and Balin, and the three of them looked to one another.

"Is he coming back?" Bilbo asked them, just as shocked as Balin was.

The three of them looked on after Gandalf, and nobody quite had the answer.

* * *

Dinner, the usual gruel, was being served around the fire that night. Bombur had cooked as usual, and Bofur was spooning it out, handing the meals around. Bilbo waited by the edge of the cottage for Gandalf to appear, Firiel standing with him.

"He's been gone a long time," Bilbo said, turning back towards the fire.

"Who?" Bofur asked.

"Gandalf," Bilbo told him, as though it were obvious.

"He's a wizard," Bofur tossed back as though it were equally obvious, "He does as he chooses."

Bofur quickly spooned out two bowls and handed one to Bilbo, motioning for Firiel to take the other one.

"Here, do us a favour, take this to the lads," he said to them, before spooning another bowl out for Firiel to take, "You can eat yours out with them if you'd like. They're probably better company for you than our lot of old men."

"Thank you Bofur," Firiel smiled at him, taking the two bowls, "I delight in the company of you all though."

"Yes, but you delight in young Fili best," he whispered to her, giving her a knowing wink, "Now go on."

Despite how embarrassed some girls would have been, Firiel simply blushed and chimed a rather sheepish "thank you" before following Bilbo out into the night. No use lying about it; Fili was probably becoming one of her very best friends. Every night, if he wasn't watching the ponies, he would tell her jokes and stories. The jokes and stories were usually about Kili's infancy, and Firiel found them absolutely delightful, as much as Kili would grumble and blush when he was around to hear them. Firiel could understand Fili's love for those stories though; she felt the same way about her siblings. Her younger brother Meriam and her little sister Maude (twins) were her absolute pride and joy. Watching Fili and Kili together made her ponder about her siblings occasionally.

How were they doing? Was their mother driving them absolutely bonkers? Firiel hoped that Meriam was being a good boy about it, since he had a bit of a temper. Maude had an even more fierce temper, but she was more of a blowhard than anything, and Firiel knew she'd apologize for any lines she crossed. After some screaming and crying in order to avoid her feelings, of course. The thought made her smile. She was close to those two, and she missed them greatly. But she knew they understood her leaving, even if they had been rather forceful about the idea of her getting married.

"I think it's going to be so good for you," Meriam had said while he and Maude were helping her pack in the dead of night.

"You need to get away from mum," Maude had agreed, "I was really very excited for you to get married, but if it makes you so unhappy you want to run away, it's probably better this way."

"Besides, Uncle will take good care of you," Meriam had told her, "And, who knows, you might meet somebody even better along the way."

She suddenly felt bad about feeling so angry towards her whole family. What her parents had done was rather unforgivable, but her siblings, she realized, hadn't really known much better at the time. They were still just children, and that she knew very well. She was very grateful that, when they stopped and thought about it, they could definitely distinguish right from wrong, no matter what their parents said.

Firiel and Bilbo soon came around the rocks where Fili and Kili were perched for watch, only to find them just standing there, staring off at the ponies. The hobbits wandered up to them, and immediately knew something was off. They didn't even take their food.

"What's the matter?" Bilbo asked instantly.

"We're supposed to be looking after the ponies," Kili said.

"Only we've encountered a slight problem," Fili chimed in, looking down at Firiel and Bilbo.

"We had sixteen," Kili explained.

"Now there's fourteen," Fili finished.

Firiel quickly placed to bowls down on the ground and took off into the group of ponies. The others soon followed, checking to see who it was that they were missing.

"Daisy and Bungo are missing," Kili announced, coming back to the centre of the little herd to meet them.

"Well, that is not good," Bilbo said quickly, still trying to offer Kili his bowl, "That is not good at all."

"Shouldn't we tell Thorin?" Firiel asked them, gratefully petting Marco.

Fili and Kili tensed at that option.

"Er, no," Fili said softly to her, "Let's not worry him.

"As our official burglar," Fili spoke then to Bilbo, "We thought you might look into it."

Bilbo seemed a little stunned by the request, but began to look around nonetheless. He looked about an soon motioned to an upturned set of thick tree tree.

"Look, something big uprooted these trees," Bilbo said, moving closer to the aforementioned greenery.

"That way our thinking," Kili said.

As the men gathered around the tree, Firiel's ears picked up on something not quite kosher. There were no animals besides the tied on ponies about. Something was very wrong. She bid Marco a small goodbye and took off just past the others.

"Something very big," she could almost hear her uncle paling, "And possibly quite dangerous."

Crouching low to the ground and gazing out past the farthest fallen tree, she noticed something just off in the distance that disrupted the darkness around them.

"Hey," she whispered back to the others, "Look, up ahead."

"There's a light," she heard Fili say, and soon he was crouched down next to her, "Well done."

"Stay low," she heard Kili whisper, and soon he and Bilbo had joined them.

They stopped and listened, and heard the sounds of awful grunts and low, crackling laughter. Fili and Kili seemed to know what they were up against, for she felt Fili's muscles go stiff next to her. A rather unpleasant smell soon passed under her nose, caught up in the wind coming from that direction. It smelled like a dirty butcher's shop.

"What is it?" Bilbo asked the boys.

"Trolls," Kili whispered back.

Before either Bilbo or Firiel could say anything, Fili and Kili had leapt up over the tree and headed off towards the light, rushing rather loudly through the undergrowth. Bilbo sputtered after them and Firiel rolled her eyes, the two hobbits soon making their rather more silent way after them. My goodness, dwarves were heavy footed. Off through the trees the four raced, and soon they were as close as they could get, tucked behind another tree. Bilbo and Firiel reached the brothers just in time for a troll, the first one either Firiel or Bilbo had ever seen, to come pounding through the forest, a pony under each arm.

"They've got Myrtle and Minty," Bilbo cried quietly, seemingly very upset.

Firiel snorted, "You named yours after my mother? That is psychologically disturbed."

"She already had her name," Bilbo muttered back, "Though I found it rather amusing, I will admit."

"Shhh," Kili shushed them, "Keep it down you two."

"I think they're going to eat them," Bilbo muttered back to the brothers, "WE have to do something."

The two young dwarves looked back at Bilbo in sync, and a rather fiendish idea seemed to for between them.

"Yes, you should," Kili said to him, standing and turning around him, "Mountain trolls are slow and stupid and you're so small, they'll never see you.

"It's perfectly safe," Kili assured Bilbo over his little chorus of no's, "We'll be right behind you."

Soon Fili began to push Bilbo out of their hiding place. Firiel couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"If you run into trouble," he told Bilbo quickly, "Hoot once like a barn owl and once like a brown owl."

As Bilbo muttered out the instructions over to himself, Kili and Fili each grabbed one of Firiel's arms and began to pull her in the opposite direction. Firiel was shocked.

"You cowards!" she whisper-shouted, trying to turn back, "How could you?! We can't leave him here!"

"We're not," Kili assured her, tugging her along at full speed.

"We're going to get the others," Fili nodded, keeping up with his brother perfectly.

"They'll know what to do," Kili said, dropping her arm.

Firiel knew that was the best course of action, but she still hated leaving her uncle. Even so, once the brothers had let go, she continued to run off with them, speeding back towards the camp. As soon as they rounded the bend towards the hill, she gave a shout.

"Trolls!" she cried, "Trolls!"

The whole company was up and armed in nearly an instant whilst the three companions explained their situation.

"My uncle is still back there, probably trying to free the ponies," Firiel explained finally, "We have to make sure he's alright!"

"Everyone follow Fili and Kili into the woods," Thorin ordered.

Everyone ran off through the brush, following behind Kili and Fili. They arrived on the scene just in time to witness three ghastly trolls holding poor Bilbo upside-down over a boiling cauldron. Before any signal had been given for the attack, Kili rushed out of the woods, slashing at the back leg of the nearest troll with his sword. The monster screamed and stumbled a bit, and Kili slashed at his foot again, dropping the wailing monster. Thorin held his arm, signalling for the rest of them to hang back. Firiel drew her knife, holding it in a reverse grip. Now as the time to see if she'd actually learned anything from Dwalin. Her heart was pounding in her eardrums.

"Drop him," Kili barked at the troll.

"You what?" the troll holding Bilbo said.

"I said," Kili breathed, swinging his sword with a flourish, "Drop him."

The troll grunted and threw Bilbo straight into Kili. As the two of them hit the ground, Thorin lead the rest of them out of the brush with a mighty battle cry. The dwarves were upon them in an instant, slashing, beating and stabbing at the three trolls. They squeaked and squeeled in pain, but had no trouble fighting off the dwarves with sheer size alone. Firiel rushed to her uncle to see if he was alright. Kili was already back up and in the fray.

"The ponies," Bilbo muttered to her, "We need to free the ponies."

Firiel was about to head off towards them, but suddenly found her poor uncle had taken off into the battle. The fight was very quickly infringing on her, and she had three options. Flee, free the ponies, or fight.

Fili, who was clearly even more skilled with a sword than he had previously let on, had been forced back beside her, slashing at a troll as he went. Almost the moment Firiel noticed his presence, the troll was coming towards them. It reached out for Firiel with its large, grubby paw. Without even thinking, Firiel raised her arm and dug her knife right into its finger. The troll howled, pulling back his hand and making the cut even worse. Blood, most likely from a punctured vein, spewed out of the troll's finger and onto her neck and face as she withdrew her knife. It reared away from her and turned on some less prickly prey. Fili looked upon her with surprise.

"What?" Firiel asked him, self-consciously trying to wipe away the troll blood with the backs of her hands.

It smeared across her golden cheek, and Fili felt his pants grow a little tight. No woman should look so ravishing covered in troll's blood.

"Nothing," he lied, shaking his head and heading back into the battle.

Firiel looked around for Bilbo and noticed that he had found a rather crude blade. He was sawing away at the rope that held the ponies in the trolls' makeshift pen. Noting that he seemed to be doing perfectly fine, Firiel followed Fili into the skirmish. It was all too confusing for Firiel to keep track of really, but soon, they had all been forced back into a corner. That was when they saw something alarming.

Two of the trolls had Bilbo up by each of his four limbs, ready to quarter her poor uncle at a moment's notice.

"Bilbo," Kili cried, rushing forwards.

"Don't," Thorin snapped, placing his arm in front of his nephew.

"Lay down your arms," the remaining troll said, "Or we'll rip his off."

There was one tense pause, a standoff of sorts. Trolls ate anything. They all knew what laying down their weapons meant. But Thorin did it anyways. And the others soon followed. Firiel, quiet and tucked in the back, sheathed her knife and quickly twisted it underneath her overskirt. If Kili was right about trolls being stupid, they wouldn't even check them properly.

And Kili had been right. The trolls never checked them for more weapons. They simply picked them up one by one and dropped them in there great, smelly sacks. Firiel thought she would vomit. She, Bilbo, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Oin, Gloin, Bombur, and Balin were all thrown in a pile against a rock, whilst all the others were soon tied up around a tree trunk. The trolls quickly made a makeshift spit to roast the others, and got their fire blazing quite quickly. She and the rest of the company were none too quiet about their predicament, but the trolls did not seem bothered by it.

"Don't bother cooking them," she heard one of the trolls say, "Let's just sit on them and squish them into jelly."

"They should be sautéed and grilled," said the one turning the spit, "With a sprinkle of sage.

"Is this really necessary?" Balin called out to them from his spot beside Firiel and Bilbo, but he was ignored.

"That does sound quite nice," the jelly lover noted.

"Never mind the seasoning," the last one, clearly the brains of the operation, snapped, "We ain't got all night. Dawn ain't far away. Let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone."

Firiel suddenly had an idea. A rather obvious one at that. She looked to her uncle, and found that he had a rather similar idea. The two nodded at one another, silently agreeing on what they had to do. The moon was no longer in sight, which meant that it was nearly dawn. All they had to do was stall.

"Wait!" Bilbo cried, just loud enough to get everyone's attention., "You are making a terrible mistake."

"You can't reason with them," Oin called to Bilbo from the spit, "Their half-wits!"

"Half-wits?" Bofur nearly laughed form between Ori's legs, "What does that make us?"

Bilbo began to roll and twist himself to his feet, and, as soon as he was moved, Firiel began to do the same. The sacks were just tight enough that the dwarves couldn't move, but Firiel and Bilbo had a much easier time.

"I meant with the seasoning," Bilbo said, hopping towards the fire.

"What about the seasoning?" a troll asked.

"Well, have you smelt them?" Bilbo asked him frankly.

"You're going to need something a lot stronger than sage," Firiel chimed in, hopping up next to her uncle, "Dwarf is extremely gamey. Their smell goes right through the meat."

"Yes, my darling, that is exactly it," Bilo said to her.

"Traitors!" "How could you?" "You sell-outs!"

The dwarves screamed insults at the two hobbits, which was understandable and perfect for their little plan. Firiel reached into her top skirt and pulled out the knife. She reached it behind her back and began to cut a hole in the back of her sack. If all else failed, she could surely rip her way out of it.

"What would you know about cooking dwarf?" the farthest troll asked them.

"Shut up," the one in front of them snapped, "Let the uh-flurgaburburahobbits talk."

As he crouched down in front of them, Firiel found her plan cut a little short. The troll would see the knife, and that would leave her with no escape time, much less any time to free the others. Bilbo grinned at them, and went on. Or at least tried to.

"The-uh-the secret to cooking dwarf is…" Bilbo looked very lost for words all of a sudden.

"Yes," the troll who seemed rather interested in cooking encouraged, "Yes, come on, tell us the secret."

"It's, uhm…."

"You have to skin them," Firiel cut across, "Skin them and separate the fat."

The dwarves all gave a rather sudden outburst, hurling profanities and even crying a little.

"Tom," their captive audience said, "Get me fileting knife."

The dwarves continued to throw insults and promises of revenge at her and Bilbo.

"What a load of rubbish," the spit-turner said, "I've eaten plenty with their skins on!"

"He's right," the farthest troll said, coming and scooping Bombur up off the ground, "Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf. Nice and crunchy."

The dwarves soon shouted and struggled to help their friend. As Bilbo looked up behind them and into the trees, Firiel followed his gaze and saw Gandalf sneaking through them. The hobbits could also see that dawn was just on the horizon. As soon as the sunlight hit the trolls, their problems would be over. But they had to save poor Bombur first!

"Oh, no, no, not that one," Bilbo cried just as Bombur was about to be bitten into, "He's infected!"

"Huh?" "You what?"

The trolls, as filthy as they were, seemed fortunately alarmed by that news.

"Yeah, he's got worms in his…tubes," Bilbo lied.

The trolls gave a cry of disgust and flung Bombur back into the pile. He landed on top of Kili with a great "oomph". Firiel took the lie and ran with it.

"Oh yes, in fact they all do," she cried.

"They're infested with parasites," Bilbo agreed, "It's a terrible business."

"I wouldn't risk it if I were you," Firiel added on.

"Parasites? Did he say parasites?!" "We don't have parasites! You have parasites!" "What are you lot talking about?!"

As Bilbo nearly failed to conceal his obvious irritation, Firiel glanced back at the dwarves and gave Thorin the most meaningful look she could muster. Thankfully, the prince caught on, and gave Kili's backside a swift kick. His nephew and the others looked up at him, a little disgusted, but caught on when Thorin relayed Firiel's look, suddenly they had every unknown infestation imaginable.

"I've got parasites as big as my arm," Oin cried.

"Mine are the biggest parasites," Kili yelled in hurried alarm, "I've got HUGE parasites! I'm riddled!"

The other dwarves all chimed in, going on about all sorts of unpleasant sounding worms and insects infesting every part of their bodies.

"What would you have us do then?" a troll asked Bilbo and Firiel, "Let them all go?"

"Well…" Bilbo trailed, attempting to look quite innocent.

"You think I don't know what you're up to?" the troll cried, shoving Firiel into the dirt with his finger and he got up in Bilbo's face, "These little ferrets is taking us for fools!"

"Ferrets?" Bilbo asked.

"Fools?"

Suddenly, from the large stone behind them, Gandalf appeared.

"The dawn will take you all!" the wizard's voice boomed out over the clearing.

The trolls, slow and stupid as they were, turned their heads up towards the wizard.

"Who's that?" one asked.

"No idea," another answered.

"Can we eat him too?" the third asked.

As they stared up at him, Gandalf raised his staff and bore it down on the stone, snapping it right down the middle. Daylight poured in, and the trolls cowered and tried to flee, but it was too late. Their skin bubbled and steamed, and, before long, they had turned to stone.

A moment of silence passed before all soon began to laugh in absolute relief. They were alive, and their wizard had returned to them. Pulling her knife back again, Firiel cut herself loose from her sack and then set to work releasing Bilbo. The two hobbits then began to help the dwarves from their smelly cloth prisons. The freed dwarves gathered their weapons, and prepared to help their companions on the spit. Firiel was quick to cut Fili loose, grasping his hand and pulling him up. Their eyes met, and it was as if they were seeing each other for the first time. Like a new level of trust and appreciation had been reached.

"Thank you," he said to her, holding her hands against his chest, "You're quite the crafty one."

"Not a problem," Firiel smiled at him, taking in the shine of his eyes in the daylight, "You would have done the same for me."

"Yeah," he whispered after a moment, giving her little hand a squeeze, "I would."

The fire beneath the spit was quickly put out, and the dwarves on the spit were soon up and ready to go. Gandalf had come down from the stone to join them, and was wondering about the trolls. Firiel giggled a bit as she watched to old wizard tap one with his staff, giving an adorably triumphant little "ha". She watched Thorin and Gandalf converse for a moment, and noted that all tension seemed thankfully gone. Though, Thorin suddenly took off in an unknown direction, and she grabbed the attention of those by the fire, and they all chased right after him.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Hey there guys. Thank you so much for the follows and reviews. I really do appreciate your support. I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but, that way I want to space them out, stopping where I have was kind of necessary. Please enjoy! :)

* * *

After walking for no less than a mile, their camping gear and ponies retrieved and in hand, the group soon came upon a cave. Lighting their torches, they ventured down into the hole. Firiel came in behind Kili, and had the most horrid scent she'd ever had the dissatisfaction of smelling wafted right up into her nose. She thought the hair in her nostrils might burn out. She choked a little one the sheer density of the putrid odor.

"What's that stench?" Kili asked.

"It's a troll-hoard," Gandalf replied, seemingly unaffected by the smell, "Be careful what you touch."

One by one, they all made their way down into the trolls' cave, all coughing and gagging as they went. For, no matter how bad a dwarf could smell, nothing compared to the smell of rotting flesh and dung for a troll cave. Looking about the cave, Firiel saw that there was gold and treasure lining the walls and floors, along with all manner of bones, armour, and weapons.

"Seems a shame to just leave it lying around," Bofur said casually, gently kicking a pile of coins, "Anyone could take it."

"Agreed," Gloin said, "Nori, get a shovel."

Firiel didn't even want to know what those three were up to, and continued to trudge along behind Thorin and Gandalf. As Gandalf headed off to the back to explore, Thorin parted off towards a display of swords that were covered in cobwebs. He pulled out two to examine them, and Gandalf returned to observe as well.

"These swords weren't made by any troll," the dwarf prince said.

He handed the one in his right hand to Gandalf, and who took the blade and began to exam it carefully.

"Nor were they made by any smith among men," the wizard noted.

The two examined the swords, Gandalf pulling his ever so slightly from its sheath and tried to remove the dirt, whilst Thorin just continued to turn his over in his hands, weighing and considering it.

"These were forged in Gondolin," Gandalf said with sudden excitement, "By the High Elves of the First Age."

Thorin seemed rather disgusted with the blade all of a sudden, glaring up at Gandalf as though the wizard had done it on purpose. Perhaps he had; Firiel would never know. Thorin moved to put it back, but Gandalf was having none of that.

"You could not wish for a finer blade," the wizard snapped.

Thorin then stopped and, with some mild reluctance, took the sword and partially unsheathed it, studying it carefully. Gandalf seemed to know that that battle was won, for her took the sword he was holding for himself, and motioned Firiel back towards the entryway.

"Come my dear," the wizard said, "You must be dying for breath of fresh air."

As they were headed back towards the entrance, something caught Gandalf's eye, and he stopped them for a brief moment. Going off towards what he had seen, Gandalf came back holding a small sword. It looked very similar to the ones that he and Thorin had. Gandalf handed it to Firiel.

"That will be an excellent weight for you, my dear," the wizard smiled at her, "And elvish blade is very fine indeed.

"Better than even the dwarves could make," he whispered playfully, winking at the she-hobbit, "It'll glow blue when goblins or orcs are nearby. I pray you will never need it, but I feel it best that you have it."

Firiel grinned and thanked him, waiting for the wizard to go ahead, since most of the others had gone. But Gandalf told her to go on ahead, deciding he had a little more exploring to do. Firiel was happy to oblige, for she didn't know how much longer she could stand the smell of that place. She prayed that the blade didn't reek of it.

As she headed out into the daylight, she saw that Fili and Kili were already out, and helping to go through what the dwarves had collected from the cave. Fili was the first to notice her, and pat Bifur's shoulder to let him know he was off, and soon he was in front of Firiel, pulling a damp and, thankfully, clean-looking cloth from one of his pouches. Firiel regarded him quizzically for moment.

"You're covered in troll blood," he said to her, motioning her forward with his hand, "Come here and I'll get it all off for you. Don't worry; the water's from that well near the cottage."

Firiel was little weary that he might do something of a joke-like nature to her, but padded over to him nonetheless. She knew he wasn't lying; she could feel the stuff crusted on her skin. Firiel thought he would let her do it, but, to her heart's greatest surprise and elation (she would only admit much later), he did something rather unexpected.

"Is it alright with you I do it?" he asked her.

He had said he would get her cleaned up, but she didn't think he would actually do it himself. She hadn't really expected him to ask if it was alright to touch her. It was not as if she really minded it though. It was a little shocking that he had asked, but she loved it.

"Um, sure," Firiel murmured, "It's probably faster that way."

Fili nodded, cupped her clean cheek in his hand and began to clean her himself. His hands were calloused and dry from many years of work and training, but they were also warm and very gentle. He focused in on the blood-splatter, wiping it quickly and carefully from her cheek and chin. It crusted right off, thankfully, and the contact was brief in the grand scheme of things, but my goodness was it intimate. It was the care with which he cleaned her neck that really made her insides quiver with excitement. It takes a lot of trust to show someone your neck, and even more to let them touch it. When she finally trusted how gentle he was being, Firiel leaned her head into his hand, exposing even more of her throat to him.

Fili was certain he'd never seen anything more intoxicating. It made him wonder for an instant what his beautiful companion looked like beneath her fancy clothes. What colour was the skin on her body that never saw daylight? What shape were her breasts when free of her corset? Was her whole body dry like her hands, or was her skin only dry in certain areas? What marks did she have on her body? How many freckles were just waiting to be touched? Or kissed? Which parts of her would she immediately allow him to worship, and which parts would he have to steadily gain even more of her trust to experience? Would she let him care for her like this always? Watch out for her and work hard to deserve her heart? Would she let him have it and hold it close as if it were the most precious stone on Middle Earth?

When he finished cleaning her neck, he pulled back to inspect his work. He seemed to have it almost off and-by Durin, her ears were red. She looked so cute, glaring off into the woods to their left as her blush grew darker and darker, climbing up her neck to her cheeks. Fili smiled a bit at the sight.

"Are you embarrassed?" he asked her, his voice almost smirking for him as he went back up to the last speckle on her cheek.

"No," Firiel punched out plainly, fiddling with the cobwebbed sword she still held in her hands, "I'm warm. There's a difference."

"Ah," he laughed a bit, "I see. There you go; all done."

When they detached from one another, Firiel said a very brief "thank you" and whirled around, heading right back towards where she had left Gandalf and plucking the webs off her weapon the whole way. Fili grinned after her retreating form as his eyes lingered on her reddened neck; she was a fun one to mess with. He suddenly received a clap on his shoulder. It was Thorin.

"She is beautiful," Thorin told his nephew, the look in his eyes knowing and final, "But she is also a hobbit, and a common one at that. Do not forget that you are a prince. My heir. She may be a good companion for now, but do not forget where your responsibility truly lies."

Fili nodded, the reality of his circumstances coming to his mind. As Thorin headed off, Fili began to wander towards Kili, his mind distracted and his heart oddly empty. He could never have her in the way he truly wanted to; no matter how much he wanted it. She could never be his queen. Tradition didn't allow for such unions. There was no point in longing for her so deeply, in nourishing their connection, and yet a very large part of him continued to protest and yearn even deeper for her, willing him to gaze upon her once more. It insisted that something so pure could never be wrong.

Firiel had just reached Bilbo and Gandalf, her intension being to check on her uncle, when Thorin gave a rather loud cry.

"Something's coming," he called.

Gandalf launched forward out of the mouth of the cave. Bilbo and Firiel looked at one another, and that is when Firiel noticed that her uncle had come possess a sword. It was a little thicker and larger than hers, but it looked to be the perfect size for him.

"Stay together," Gandalf ordered them all, "Hurry now! Arm yourselves!"

The dwarves all drew their weapons and headed off after Gandalf. Firiel and Bilbo exchanged another glance, before both drawing their swords. Firiel's was much thinner than it had originally looked in the sheath, the blade much straighter than Bilbo's. It looked almost plain, but it was definitely a well-made short sword. Bilbo's own sword was a bit fancier than hers, with a blade that curved ornately and some decorative runes engraved along it, but Firiel liked her blade. Soon, she and Bilbo took off after the dwarves to face the noise. Something was speeding towards them through the bush, and, when it emerged, Firiel couldn't believe her eyes. It was a dirty old man, in a dirty old brown robe, riding on a sleigh pulled by brown rabbits.

Yes, you did just read that correctly.

"Thieves! Fire! Murderer!" the robed man screamed, riding right into the centre of their circle.

Firiel knew she had to be dreaming. Apparently the others felt the same, since none of them moved to attack. They all just kind of stared at him. What on Earth were they looking at? Though, Gandalf clearly knew.

"Radagast," he exhaled in relief, sheathing his sword, "It's Radagast the Brown."

The rest of the company all looked to one another for a moment as Gandalf headed towards his friend. They all slowly sheathed their weapons, still wondering what was going on. Firiel studied Radagast, and found he really made even some of these dwarves look clean. The man had mold and bird dung in his hair for goodness sakes.

"Well," Gandalf began politely, but then stated rather plainly, "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you, Gandalf," Radagast said quickly, "Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong."

"Yes?" Gandalf nodded for him to continue.

Radagast gave a great inhale, but seemed to find himself out of words.

"Just give me a minute," Radagast said, then grew rather put out, "Oh, I had a thought, and now I've lost it. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue."

Bilbo and Firiel looked at one another, and then Firiel turned her gaze to Fili, who was on her other side. She noticed then that he was really doing his level best not to look her way, although she knew he could probably see her plainly. She would have pondered on it, but Radagast made a noise that caught her attention.

"It's not a thought at all," the brown wizard said, opening his mouth, "It's a silly old stick insect."

And a stick bug it was. She watched in absolute confusion and disgust as Gandalf pulled it right from his mouth and plopped it in Radagast's grubby hand. She felt a little bit sick all of a sudden.

"Give us a moment, will you?" Gandalf said to the company, "We won't be long."

The dwarves all looked to Thorin, but Firiel and Bilbo didn't need to be told twice, and headed off towards some nearby rocks. The dwarves followed them shortly.

* * *

There they sat in the sun, on mossy stones, as the two wizards smoked and conversed. Firiel wondered if that was all one needed to be a wizard; a staff, dirty robes, a ridiculous hat, and a pipe. She voiced her musings aloud to Kili and Fili, who laughed and chimed in their own thoughts on it. Whatever had been bothering Fili before seemed to be long gone in terms of any hold it had on his mood, and he seemed to be back to normal. Firiel simply chose not to ask. If he needed to talk about it, she knew he would.

Suddenly, a howl rang through the forest air, and all conversation came to an abrupt halt. It sounded like a wolf, but it was far too large to be one.

"What was that?" Firiel whispered to the brothers.

Kili didn't answer her, and grabbed his bow instead. Fili did the same, drawing his sword and bringing himself closer to her. Firiel elected to follow suit, and drew her own blade. She noticed her uncle standing abruptly, gripping his new sword. All stood at the ready, listening.

"Was that a wolf?" Bilbo asked, utterly alarmed, "Are there wolves out there?"

"Wolves?" Bofur seemed equally alarmed, "No, that is not a wolf."

The air was still, but Firiel felt a vibration go through her eardrums. It was growling, and it was coming from behind their party. A stick broke, and they all turned to face it, giving a great shout. It was a warg. A great, wolf-like beast with grotesque claws and saber-like fangs. And it was making its way down the hill towards them, growling and snapping all the way. It suddenly lunged forward, knocking Gloin to the ground and attempting to bite his head off. The creature's plans were cut short by Thorin, who bore his new sword down upon the beast's neck with a great cry. Another warg emerged from the woods behind Thorin.

"Kili, you're bow," someone yelled.

And Kili didn't miss a beat, shooting the creature dead in the chest. It knocked the monster down, and Dwalin delivered the fatal blow. They all rushed forwards to see if everyone was ok, but the relief was short lived.

"Warg scouts," Thorin cried, pulling his blade from his kill, "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"Orc pack?" Bilbo was almost incensed.

"Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?" Gandalf demanded, closing in on Thorin.

"No one," Thorin replied.

"Who did you tell?" Gandalf cried.

"No one, I swear," Thorin cried back.

Gandalf sighed in frustration.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" Thorin asked him.

"You are being hunted," Gandalf replied as though it were obvious.

The air grew thick and heavy. What were they going to do?

"We have to get out of here," Dwalin said.

"We can't," Ori cried, coming down from the hill, "We have no ponies! They bolted!"

All of this commotion was occurring to a chorus of warg howls in the distance. They were dead.

"I'll draw them off," Radagast said suddenly.

"These are Gundabad wargs," Gandalf turned to his friend, attempting to reason with him, "They will outrun you."

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits," Radagast returned, a twinkle in his crazed eyes, "I'd like to see them try."

* * *

And so, the plan was set in nearly an instant. Radagast would give the orcs something to chase, meanwhile the company would attempt to cross the final flatlands on foot. It was risky, but in that moment, it was all they had. Soon, Radagast was off, and the race began. As Radagast drew the orcs out into the fields, Gandalf lead the company out behind the departing orc pack.

"Come on," the wizard called.

The whole company took off down the hill, running for their lives across the rocky plains as Radagast attempted to lead the orcs the other way. His plan clearly got a little derailed though, for no less than a minute after they had last seen him, Radagast passed right in front of their party, the orc pack nipping at his heels. Thorin, who had been in the lead, instantly put on the breaks.

"Stay together," Gandalf muttered loud enough for them to hear, "Move!"

And with that, they were off again in another direction entirely. Firiel could hardly keep her breathing under control. It didn't matter how fit she was; these dwarves were all a fair bit bigger than her, and two of her strides matched one of theirs.

It wasn't long though before Radagast passed in front of them again, Ori almost jutting out into the open until Thorin grabbed him. Gandalf waved them on once the Orcs were past.

"Come on, this way," the wizard said.

Nobody had the time or the patience to argue. If Gandalf knew the way, he knew the way. He and Radagast were their only hope. Again, Radagast passed in front of them, but everyone knew what to do by this time. They all headed to the nearby rocks, pulling their bodies tight up against them and waiting. The rest of the orcs passed by, but Firiel soon hear the growl of a warg coming from the rocks above them. Thorin looked up to see what it was, and then nodded to Kili. Within an instant, Kili pushed off the wall and shot the warg in the chest. Before his orc rider had time to blow a signal horn, Kili had shot him in the chest. Orc and warg came tumbling down, the warg giving a violent screech. His rider was up and came at them, but Dwalin and Bifur knocked him down with ease. Though that didn't stop the orc from giving a scream so loud it could have made your ears bleed. Thorin was soon on him and chopped his head from his body. Kili shot the warg one more time before it lay still. But it wasn't too long before the howls of wargs and orcs began in unison, quickly growing louder with each instant.

They had given away their position. Radagast would be of no use now.

"Move!" Gandalf ordered them, "Run!"

Firiel grabbed hold of Fili's arm and dragged him off with her on a mad dash after Gandalf. Fili soon caught up and sped past her, pulling her along behind him. He could feel in her every step that she was growing tired, and gripped her arm tighter. The company just made it to the top of a hill, and saw wargs coming around in their path.

"There they are!" Dwlain shouted, pointing.

"This way! Quickly!" Gandalf yelled, taking off once more.

They followed after him, Thorin taking up the front again, until they soon found their path blocked by another orc. They were trapped in a little gully. Firiel clung close to Fili's side, frightened for her life.

"There's more coming!" Kili yelled, running towards the centre of the little valley.

"Kili, shoot them!" Thorin ordered.

It was in vain though; Kili did not have enough arrows to shoot them all.

"We're surrounded!" Fili cried.

The dwarves all stood in an outward facing circle, staring down their enemy. Kili began to fire arrows on their foe, taking down one orc after another.

"Where's Gandalf?!" Dori shrieked.

"He's abandoned us," Dwalin replied.

The orcs continued to advance, cackling madly. The company all began to back up together. Firiel looked to her left and spotted Bilbo, sword drawn and eyes focused on the orcs. To her right was Fili, keeping himself half a step before her and Kili, like a shield. Everyone looked ready to bolt.

"Hold your ground!" she heard Thorin order.

Closer and closer the orcs stalked. It was like they were getting some sick, sadistic thrill from all of this. Firiel saw her sword begin to glow brilliantly, almost blindingly blue, even in the harsh daylight.

"Keep near to me," Fili told to her, not once taking his eyes off their foe, "Keep near to me, and it'll all be fine."

All hope seemed lost.

"This way, you fools!"

It was Gandalf, they all looked around for him, and found him perched between a giant and smaller boulder. He had an escape route.

"Come on, move," was Thorin's new order, and move they did.

There was a hole in between the rocks. Thorin stood atop the smaller boulder.

"Quickly, all of you!" he shouted.

Bofur was the first down, followed immediately by Biblo and Balin. Fili had accompanied Firiel to the cave and helped her slide in after Balin. It was nearly a sheer drop, and she rolled to the bottom like a stone. She soon spotted her uncle, and rushed towards him, embracing him quickly and checking for wounds. She soon noticed that Fili was not behind her, and looked back up in panic. One after another, the other dwarves came, but Fili, Thorin, and Kili were nowhere to be seen.

"Kili! Run!" she heard Thorin yell.

Almost immediately after, to her great relief, Fili and Kili came tumbling down, with Thorin taking up the rear. Firiel felt all tightness in her chest vanish. Without a thought or care in the world, Firiel ran right into Fili, wrapping her arms around her neck. That tightness had moved up to her throat now it seemed, as she struggled not to weep. Fili was rather stunned for a moment, but her embraced was soon returned. She felt him grip onto her so tightly that it was as if she were disappearing.

As he held her tight in that instant, breathing in a scent that was completely her own, Fili came to a conclusion about his feelings, and it was quite an unusual conclusion for him. Who cared what Thorin said? Hadn't he already defied Thorin once for her? What was the big deal about doing it again? He loved his uncle like a father, and disappointing him was the last thing Fili wanted to do, but the world was a strange place. He had earlier just witnessed a mad old man riding a bunny sled, and he realized that his feelings were not nearly so strange as that. That strangeness had even tried to help save their lives. Surely, if there were people like the brown wizard running about, a union between a dwarf and a hobbit wouldn't seem that strange. And, even if it was, if his uncle really did love him, would Thorin not wish for his happiness?

The two separated as quickly as they had come together, crouching low and preparing for the orcs to follow them down. The company all stared up into the light, but no orcs followed them. Instead, a mighty horn sounded, and the sound of arrows flying through the air greeted their ears. Shouts and battle cries rang through the air. What sort of madness was occurring up there? Midway through the above-ground skirmish, an orc came tumbling down the hole, an arrow protruding from his neck. The company parted like the red sea, only relaxing when they saw that it was dead. Firiel shuddered; these creatures looked even more gruesome in death. The sounds of battle quickly ceased, only the hooves and whinnies of horses still above them. Thorin came forward and wrenched the arrow from the creature's neck, staring at it only for a moment before a look of contempt crossed his face.

"Elves," he spat, tossing it to the ground.

Firiel looked to Bilbo then, and they both seemed equal parts puzzled. Why were elves helping them? Then they heard Dwalin calling from the far end of their little cave.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," he shouted, "Do we follow it or no?"

"Follow it of course," Bofur cried, taking off in the same direction Dwalin had gone.

Nobody asked any questions, chasing right on after them. Anywhere was better than from whence they'd come.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Hi everybody! Thank you so much for staying with me and continuing to read. Please feel free to comment or leave a review. Ask me anything, and, short of spoiling the story, I will answer. A special thanks to those users who have already left such kind reviews. I dare not attempt to spell your usernames for fear of bastardizing them, but you know who you are. Enjoy this latest chapter! :)

* * *

The company soon reached a path, which was actually a rather thin crack right down through the stone. The dwarves were just barely thin enough to fit through, though for Firiel, Bilbo, and Gandalf the walk was more comfortable. Sunlight filtered in from the top of their trail, giving them plenty of light to see where they were walking. However, they could not quite see where the path ended. But, once they came to the end, the pathway opened up into a sort of stairwell, leading out from the mountain. The dwarves all stopped on the stairs, and Firiel, unable to contain her curiosity, pushed through to the front. She would speak of what she saw then for years to come.

It was a large valley, tucked up against the rocks, with large homes and buildings whose architectural beauty was nearly blinding. Her breath rushed from her lungs.

"The Valley of Imladris," she heard Gandalf say from the rear, "In common tongue, it's known by another name."

"Rivendell," she murmured, completely awed by the sight of it.

The most ancient of elven colonies that still stood, it was everything Firiel had even read about.

"Here lies the Last Homely House East of the Sea," Gandalf continued, clearly just as awed as she was.

Firiel turned to Fili and Kili, who stood to her left, and grinned with joyous excitement. They did not look nearly so pleased as she was.

"What's wrong?" she asked them.

"Well," Kili said, "Uncle hates elves."

"With a passion," Fili concurred, "So, if we rest here for the evening, hopefully he'll behave."

"You think they'll try to stop us?" Kili asked them, "The elves, I mean. Do you think they'll try and keep us from getting to Erebor?"

"It could possibly go either way," Firiel shrugged, "I've read that they greatly value the balance of the world, and they may feel your quest will upset it. Or restore it."

Soon after, Gandalf took up the lead, and they followed him down the rocky path to the bridge that leads into the city. It alarmed Firiel greatly that there were no hand rails along such a sheer drop.

"Have they never heard of safety precautions?" she muttered to Fili, feeling a little ill as she paused to look down.

There were sharp rocks and a raging falls at the bottom of this bridge. How fortunate for them. Firiel swayed a little on her feet, grabbing Fili's sleeve for support. He noted how troll blood didn't seem bother her at all, but heights were another issue entirely. It was sort of endearing.

"Just don't look down," he told her with a chuckle, "This is what dwarf bridges look like as well. It makes entering our cities for battle a bit more risky for our foe, since we know the bridges in a way that they do not."

"Ah, I see," she said, focusing instead on the city as they came upon the entry platform.

Two large statues guarded their bridge, while the circular platform was surrounded by the rest of the city. Now, elves don't really have cities in the way we think of cities. An elven city was more like a series of large, ever connecting houses, with everyone sleeping and living together. It was quite a fascinating concept for Firiel, who like the idea of having her own home and space. She couldn't imagine living so close to everyone she had ever met forever (seeing as elves never really die). As she and Bilbo stared about with fascination, she noted the dwarves did not seem nearly so interested. Instead, they muttered nervously amongst themselves.

"What is it?" Firiel asked Fili and Kili.

Before the brothers had the chance to answer, a tall, rather handsome elven man began to make his way down the staircase opposite to the bridge. He had dark brown hair, a long red cloak, and very sharp features.

"Mithrandir," he called out.

It was Gandalf who turned, smiling as he gazed upon the elf.

"Ah, Lindir," Gandalf greeted him, heading towards the elf.

The man spoke to Gandalf in Elvish, which made the dwarves even more nervous. Firiel could not see that problem, but she could understand their nervousness. They didn't know what on Earth this Lindir fellow was saying.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," Gandalf told Lindir.

"My Lord Elrond is not here," Lindir replied, his expression turning to one of contempt in the instant he gazed out upon the company.

"Not here?" Gandalf asked him, "Where is he?"

Lindir gave pause. Firiel had a feeling that he didn't want them here. Suddenly, a horn sounded in the distance. The party turned to look out towards the bridge, and saw elf riders making their way towards them with great haste. They did not look friendly. Thorin gave a shout in Kazdul, and the dwarves seemed to spring into action.

"Close ranks," he called in common tongue.

Firiel felt Fili and Kili grab hold of her and push her into the middle of their tightly knit circle. Bilbo was in there with her. The elf riders came upon them, circling them and staring down at them. The dwarves were panicked, and so were Bilbo and Firiel by extension. What was going to happen? The dwarves kept grunting and jerking their weapons as they were being circled, almost like apes trying to make a show of dominance. Within about a minute or so, they were surrounded by two rings of horsemen, who stopped in a staggered pattern, blocking any escape the company may have had. What a welcome.

"Gandalf," one of them called from the front.

"Lord Elrond," was the wizard's joyful reply.

The company watched as the horsemen dispersed a little and Gandalf bowed to Lord Elrond, greeting him in Elvish. Firiel took note of this Elrond's appearance. He had dark hair and pointed features, much in likeness to Lindir. However, in spite of their similarities, he looked much older than Lindir, his face covered in fine lines and wrinkles as he smiled at them. She knew that, for an elf to be wrinkled, they must be truly ancient indeed. His eyes were brown, and he sat and spoke with a regal aire. He dismounted swiftly and made his way towards Gandalf with proud, panther-like steps. Firiel didn't really know what to make of these elves, though all tension receded when Lord Elrond gave Gandalf a brief yet friendly hug.

"Strange," the elf lord smiled mysteriously, handing an orcish sword off to Lindir as he spoke in common tongue, "for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, has drawn them near."

"Ah, that may have been us," Gandalf told him, turning back towards the company.

Thorin came forward from the group to face Elrond plain. Elrond knew full well who he was.

"Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain," Elrond greeted him formally.

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replied.

Elrond looked him over, his ancient eyes assessing the dwarf prince.

"You have your grandfather's bearing," Elrond told him, "I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain."

"Indeed?" Thorin seemed annoyed by the mere mention of his grandfather having known Elrond, "He made no mention of you."

The two stared one another down, a tense battle for supremacy waging between them. Elrond was clearly the older and wiser of them, but Thorin was stubborn enough for the both of them. Suddenly, Elrond said something rather intensely in Elvish.

"What is he saying?" Gloin asked fiercely, "Does he offer us insult?"

"No, Master Gloin," Gandalf nearly sighed in exasperation, "He's offering you food."

Firiel snorted, watching as the dwarves all turned to one another in discussion.

"Men," she muttered under her breath.

After a moment of whispering amongst themselves in Kazdul, they turned back towards Gandalf and Elrond.

"Well, in that case, lead on," Gloin said.

* * *

At dinner, they were served a mighty feast of greens that Firiel had not seen the likes of before. They had every vegetable she had ever eaten and more. A lover of vegetation, she helped herself to all the lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, and whatever else she could find. God only knew how long it would be until she actual saw another vegetable. The elvish musicians played their harps and flutes delicately in the background, sweeter than sugar and softer than silk. Firiel found it a whole new cultural experience altogether, though the dwarves were not nearly so excited.

"Try it," she could see Dori trying to encourage Ori to eat a piece of lettuce, "Just a mouthful."

"I don't like green food," Ori protested, observing the lettuce as though it were a viper.

Dwalin was rummaging through his salad like a madman.

"Where's the meat?" he asked.

"Have they got any chips?" Ori asked mildly, clearly not wanting to be too offensive about the elves' taste in food.

Firiel, who sat at the downwind table with Kili and Fili, was utterly amused when she saw that the brothers were just putting on their plates whatever they saw her eating. And, even then, they looked at it with disdain. Firiel laughed at them as she finished her second helping of spinach salad.

"Fili, Kili, it's lettuce," she snickered, "It's not going to eat you."

"Well, maybe not, but it certainly doesn't look meant to be eaten either," Kili groaned a bit, putting down his fork on the table and turning to watch the musicians.

"Alright, you've escaped me this time," Firiel teased before turning to Fili, "But you, with all your smoking, are not getting out of this one with me. Eat. You'll feel great; I know I do already."

Fili rolled his eyes at her, but regarded his salad with a bit more contemplation than before. He opened his mouth to eat some, and then stopped short of actually doing it.

"Do I have to?" he asked her, almost pathetically.

"Elves don't eat meat you know, so it's this or nothing," Firiel told him, meaning every word, "Please? For me?"

Fili sighed, for now the battle was truly won. This woman would be the death of him. He stared at his fork again, grimaced, and ate the crunchy green abomination. The dwarves around them ooed and gwaffed in mock disgust. Firiel watched, giggling as he wrinkled his nose for show, before swallowing the iceberg lettuce.

"You know, I've had worse," he coughed a bit, looking down at Firiel and delighting in her triumphant smile.

On Fili's other side, it hadn't taken Kili long to notice the elven woman who played the harp was watching him. He gave her a little wink, and a gracious smile which she was quick to return before casting her eyes elsewhere. Dwalin just glared at him from across the table. Kili smiled at him.

"Can't say I fancy elf maids myself," Kili said, seemingly quite serious all of a sudden, "Too thin. They're all high cheekbones and creamy skin. Not enough facial hair for me. Although that one's not bad."

He had motioned his head subtly towards the elf behind him who was playing a little harp. One gaze upon Kili's intended, and Firiel simply shook her head, going back to her food. Bofur and the others near them chuckled.

"That's not an elf maid," Dwalin whispered to him.

Kili paled a little as the others laughed at him.

"Now, now, Kili's preferences are his business. And after gazing on you lot for so long, I can understand his mistake," Firiel scolded them teasingly, giving a little giggle at the end.

The dwarves who shared their table all gave a great chuckle, and the moment was quickly forgotten. Up at the round head table, Firiel saw Lord Elrond examining Gandalf and Thorin's blades. She pondered on her own briefly, but was soon far too interested in her cherry tomatoes to care. She was going to eat like a ravenous, vegetarian king tonight. Nori soon turned to glare back at the elf maid who played the harp.

"Change the tune, why don't you?" he snapped, "I feel like somebody died."

"Alright lads, there's only one thing to do for it," Bofur said, nearly leaping from his seat.

"What is he doing?" Firiel muttered as Bofur jumped up on the small monument at the balcony's centre.

She knew immediately when he opened his mouth though. They were going to sing. Dwarf music, at an elven dinner. Well, that would certainly entertain their hosts, she noted with mirth.

"_There's an inn, there's an inn, _

_There's a merry old inn, beneath an old grey hill,_

_And there they brew a beer so fine _

_The Man in the Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill!_"

The dwarves all clacked their cutlery on the tables, and Firiel actually found herself bopping along as she chewed on some asparagus. If you can't beat them, join them. Soon the food began to fly about, and the elves did not look nearly so amused as they were. But, ever polite, the elves were quite patient. As dinner came to a close, Lord Elrond stood from his seat.

"I have heard this evening that you have all been down in a troll-hoard this day," the elven lord smiled at them, though it did not reach his eyes, "Therefore, I invite you all to spend the night. Bathe, and rest, before you continue your journey."

Firiel was quite impressed by Lord Elrond. As annoyed as he seemed, he was certainly fairing much better than she and Bilbo had. The dwarves gave a grateful cheer at the invite, and were soon gathering up their dishes with haste. This seemed to be a bit more of a pleasant surprise to the elves, who allowed their rambunctious guests to clean up the mess they had made before they took off. Even Bilbo had managed to wander away; probably off to wander the city. Since she had no intention of bathing with the men nor doing anything before she had a bath, Firiel elected to remain put, sipping her water. Perhaps she would wait until they were done. But then the water would be filthy. She pouted, puzzling out how she would get in a bath.

"And who, old friend, might this fair guest be?"

It wasn't until a rather pregnant pause took hold that Firiel looked up to their table. Lord Elrond had been speaking of her. He and Gandalf stood, wandering towards her. Firiel returned the courtesy, meeting them halfway.

"My Lord Elrond, allow me to introduce Miss Firiel-May Brandybuck, niece to the Thane of Buckland, and our own Mr. Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf extended his hand towards Firiel, "My dear, allow me to properly introduce to you Lord Elrond, High Ruler of Rivendell."

"It's an honour to meet you, Lord Elrond," Firiel said with sincerity, "Thank you so very kindly for your hospitality."

Firiel gave a courtesy, to which Lord Elrond smiled. He was relieved to find a delightfully polite creature among the company. The halfling reminded him a little of his own daughter, who would have been just as small not many decades ago.

"Please, my dear, the honour is entirely mine," Lord Elrond bowed his head towards her, "Gandalf here tells me you have quite an appreciation for cultures other than your own. I am only sorry we could not allow you a more authentic dining experience. It is not often we had dwarves for company."

"Oh, there is no need to apologize, my lord," Firiel told him, a smile and blush gracing her features as she glanced off in the direction the company had gone, "I completely understand. They take some time to get used to, but I promise that they do grow on you. Once you get past the rough exterior, that is."

Gandalf and Elrond looked to one another, sharing in a small chuckle. Elrond could now plainly see Gandalf's purpose for bringing the she-hobbit along. She seemed good-natured and kind-hearted, and even through the grime that covered her, Elrond could see that she shone with confidence. She would make someone a fine companion.

"I will trust your judgement, Miss Brandybuck," Lord Elrond said, clapping his hands, "Please, allow my children to take you to our bathhouse. It will be quite a pleasant experience, I assure you. If it pleases you, I will also have them bring you new clothes. You will venture through mountains from here, and such lovely skirts and buttons will not be practical."

At the clap of Elrond's hands, two she-elves had come forward, both beautiful as anything Firiel had ever seen, and bowed to her. Firiel was stunned by his kindness.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," she sputtered out, "It pleases me greatly that you would even offer."

"Nonsense," he smiled.

Soon, Elrond was passing out a few orders in Elvish, and the servants took off in different directions. The two handmaids reached down and gently took each of Firiel's hands, leading her away.

The elves' bathhouse was empty when they arrived, but so naturally beautiful that Firiel found it took her breath away. The ceilings seemed to reach the skies themselves, and were made of rose-tinted glass that was held up by cherry wood trees. It was as if this beautiful place had grown from the ground itself. The floors were polished, white marble, as were the multitude of tubs that seemed more like natural springs than constructs. The doors and walls as well were tinted glass, and a large balcony faced out towards the sea. The whole place was aglow as the sun was setting over the horizon.

"Which tub would please you, my lady?" one of the handmaids, a fairy-like creature with hair like ebony, asked, "One by the balcony? Or perhaps one more in the shade?"

"Also, my lady, would you prefer rose or lavender petals?" the other, a brunette in strange likeness to Lindir, chimed in as she headed off towards a large cabinet that seemed to grow from the building's supports, "Or perhaps both?"

Firiel was nearly overwhelmed. My lady? No one had ever addressed her as such in her life. Even her father's cook, Patsy, had called her "Firiel" from the time she was small. As the brunette pulled out bowls of petals and the fluffiest towels Firiel had ever seen, the ebony-haired maid began to undo the buttons of her bodice with delicate little pops.

"Oh please, that's alright," Firiel sputtered, placing her hands on top of the elf maid's, "Please, just call me Firiel. I really appreciate all this kindness, but I feel bad not even knowing your names."

The handmaids looked at one another strangely for a moment, but soon began so give the most delightfully lyrical giggles Firiel had ever heard. The quickly went back to their tasks, but this time, they spoke.

"Our apologies, Miss Firiel," her dresser chuckled as she delicately unfastened the buttons, "I am Morneth. And this is Master Lindir's sister, Faeneth."

"And please, it is our honour to serve you," Faeneth smiled, heading off towards a tub near the balcony with her load, "Lord Elrond has assured us that you are to be treated as if you were a queen."

Firiel went beet red. How extraordinarily kind of him. Almost too much so, given how he had barely been able to conceal his dislike for the dwarves. As Morneth pulled her bodice from her body, Firiel's own body odor hit her in the face. She thought she was going to die from embarrassment in front of these God-like creatures.

"Oh my goodness," she cried, so mortified she felt tears springing to her eyes, "I am so sorry! We've been travelling for so long, I just-!"

"Please, Miss Firiel, it's alright," Morneth actually dared to pet her head, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "We do not mind it."

"Really, we do not," Faeneth had rushed back to them, and placed a delicate hand on Firiel's cheek, "Dwarves have a smell so strong they could mask most others. Fear not; we understand."

"Don't worry," Morneth smiled at Firiel, "We will get you all cleaned up."

"And the clothes Lord Elrond is having brought for you will not smell such as these ones," Faeneth assured her, "Elven silks and cottons breathe better than any clothing you will ever wear."

Truly touched by their manners and sincerity, Firiel allowed the two elves to finish undressing her and lead her to the tub that Faeneth had been filling for her. Firiel looked in the massive tub and saw that there were not only rose and lavender petals in the water, but also flakes of what smelled like vanilla bean. She inhaled the beautiful aroma, relaxing as she felt someone undoing her braid. She would remember this kindness for the rest of her life, and would speak until she died of how truly lovely the elves of Rivendell were.

"Oh, wait," Firiel said as they were about to help her into the tub, "Would you mind helping me scrub off most of the dirt before I actually bathe. I would hate to ruin this lovely bath the moment I step into it."

The two maids giggled, but nodded and took her off to a side area, where they poured buckets of water and helped Firiel scrub the dirt from her skin and initially rinse out her hair. Firiel did not mind having these women touching her; they were comforting really. It had been too long since she had had any women to speak with. She asked them about themselves, about what it was like to grow up in Rivendell. Their answers were vague, and in great likeness to those she had read in her books about elven culture. As she scrubbed her arms, Firiel noticed how surprisingly thinner and more muscular they had become. She was still soft-looking as any hobbit, but her skin felt tighter, and her muscles a little were more defined. She looked and saw that most of her torso was like that, as well as her calves. Her bottom was still fleshy, as were her inner thighs and breasts (though, those felt firmer than they had before as well.). Her thighs, while still large, felt as though thick, hard muscle had grown beneath the skin. The elves chuckled as she continued to feel herself up, bringing Firiel back from her little reprieve. She had been beautiful before, but she felt even more so now. She felt stronger, more confident. In command of herself. It was a pretty good feeling.

Once they had scrubbed the dirt from her body, Firiel allowed the two elves, who were rather friendly with her now, to scoop her up and plop her in the full tub. As soon as her body was submerged, Faeneth began to wash her wet hair (with what, Firiel would never know). Once that was done and her hair rinsed, Morneth poured in some sort of oil, and the two simply sat with Firiel, asking her questions about her home as she soaked. Once Firiel was certain she was clean enough for a hundred years, her new friends helped her from the tub. They had wanted to pat her dry, but Firiel had simply smiled and assured them that she could take it from here. They giggled and disappeared for a moment as she dried herself, then they returned with some clothes for her. Firiel did not ask where her old clothes had gone, though when she saw what they had returned with, she didn't care.

They had brought her a sort of undergarment that she had not seen the likes of before. It was almost like what we would know as a racing swimsuit, but it was dark green cotton. Firiel marvelled at how they had managed to find one small enough for her that accommodated her womanly figure, but it fit to a tee. They had also brought her a pair of tight, dark brown pants, leggings of sorts, which stretched comfortably with every move she made. They gave her a greyish-green, long-sleeved shirt made of a similar, equally comfortable material. The V-necked tunic simply hung from her shape flatteringly, and the sleeves were full-length and fitted. Her old, oak coloured shawl they had washed for her, and it now smelled like heaven. She simply threw it around her neck like a thick scarf. Morneth handed her what looked to be a pair of children's wrist and calf guards. They fit perfectly. When her curls were dry, they tried to braid it, but Firiel was having none of that. She simply parted it as she liked and pulled it back into a ponytail, her shorter bits of hair falling forward in a flattering and comfortable way. Once she was done, Firiel observed herself in one of their crystal mirrors and nearly laughed. Were it not for her hobbit feet and fatter ears, she would have looked like a stockier elf child.

"Are you pleased, Miss Firiel?" Faeneth asked her.

"Oh yes," Firiel cried in delight, "It's perfect! I'll be able to travel like it's nothing with these. Who would have thought that trousers were so comfortable?"

The handmaids giggled again, and Firiel allowed them to escort her back to the main halls. Firiel quickly found her companions, making themselves some of that god awful sludge over a makeshift fire pit in their long johns, having a grand old time doing it. Firiel bid her new friends goodbye, promising to come back and visit them someday, before speeding off towards the company. Nori was the first to see her coming, and gave a great wolf-whistle. The others soon spotted her, and a chorus of appreciative yips and hollers began. Firiel grinned, though her ears were red as roses, and stopped just before the group, giving them a dramatic and flourishing bow.

"Thank you, thank you," she grinned, "I take it you all approve?"

The dwarves chorused their appreciation, and Firiel quickly spotted Fili. She sauntered cutely towards him, biting her lip and smiling at him. She delighted in the way his Adam's apple bobbed nervously.

"So," she said, patting the heels of her hands against her thighs absently, "How do I look?"

Fili stared down at her. He could see almost every detail of her so purely, and she had never looked more stunning. She looked so happy, and comfortable, as if this is how the gods had always intended her to look. He opened his mouth to comment, but Kili cut across him.

"Any better and he'd make you his wife," Kili winked playfully.

"Hey, get in line, pup," Bofur called laughingly, "Wisdom before beauty!"

"Oh yeah? How far back the line do you fall then?" someone joked, giving the group great cause to fall into a fit of laughter.

"Come on now, Lassie," Dwalin smiled for once, "Give us a twirl. Let's see the damage those elves have done."

Firiel did just that, coming towards the fire and giving a little, graceful spin. They all clapped and cheered, while Dwalin simply tilted his head.

"Eh, I've seen worse," he shrugged.

Firiel laughed, sticking her tongue out at the old dwarf childishly. She soon plopped herself down on the floor, leaning back against the chaise lounge that Kili had perched himself on to smoke his pipe. Fili soon joined them, sitting on the end of the lounge with his back against the wall. As Firiel looked out, she noticed that Thorin and Bilbo were nowhere to be found.

"Where's my uncle gone off to?" Firiel asked the brothers, "And yours, for that matter? And where's Balin?"

"Gone off on a walk, I do believe," Fili told her, "With Gandalf and Lord Elrond."

"Oh, I see."

"What do think of Lord Elrond, anyways?" Kili asked them, loud enough for the whole group to hear, "A bit stuffy, isn't he?"

The dwarves all nodded and voiced their agreements.

"Now, now," Dori scolded them, ever the polite voice of reason, "Lord Elrond has been nothing but hospitable to us. We've had all the food and wine we could ever care to have. And look what good care his elves have taken of young Miss Firiel. We should be gracious."

The dwarves grumbled a bit, but Dori's tune was quick to change.

"Even if he does look to have a mighty stick jammed up his arse," the old dwarf grinned fiendishly.

The group soon laughed again, and Firiel quickly joined him. As nice as he was to her, she had to agree. Lord Elrond was a bit tight in terms of mannerisms. The night continued on like this, with all of them laughing and chatting away. Much later in the evening, Bilbo, Balin, and Thorin returned to the party. As soon as he spotted her, Bilbo pulled her to her feet.

"My goodness, look at you," her uncle grinned, "When did all this happen?"

"The elves whisked your girl away, and, before we knew it, she came back like this," Dwalin told him, "Big improvement from before, eh? Now she can actually run without worrying about those skirts."

"Oh, the elves were so kind to me, Uncle," Firiel gushed, "So polite, and so accommodating. They gave me these clothes and even washed my shawl."

"That's wonderful, darling," Bilbo smiled, her happiness bringing him joy.

"Young Fili here was lost for words at the sight of her," Bofur joked, "Best be careful, Master Baggins, or you'll soon have a dwarf for an in-law."

They all laughed in great jest, but Firiel noted quickly how serious Thorin looked at that innocent comment. Though, Thorin looked deathly serious all the time, so it was nothing unusual for him to be scowling.

"You look lovely, my dear," Balin told her with a smile, patting her arm as he wandered off to find a seat.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"Everyone, listen up," Thorin announced, gathering up the companies attention, "Rest well tonight, but know this, the elves do not wish for us to go on our quest. We must march out at dawn, or they will try to stop us. Dress and pack your things tonight. Gandalf will keep them occupied here long enough for us to slip away into the mountains."

The dwarves did not seem that surprised, and neither did Bilbo. Firiel wondered what it was she was missing, but went about gathering her pack nonetheless. After making sure her few belongings were still inside, she headed back towards Bilbo with it. Once they both made sure they had everything, the two hobbits went about in search of a good place to curl up, since the dwarves had destroyed most of the furniture for their camp fire. Bilbo found a good cushion, and tried to usher her towards it. It was only big enough for one of them, though.

"You go ahead, Uncle," Firiel smiled at him, "I'll find another one."

"No, no, I insist," Bilbo argued, "You could use a good pillow."

"Uncle, I'm the youngest of us, which means you should have the cushion. My back will survive," she replied, crossing her arms stubbornly.

"Firiel-May Brandybu-!"

"It's alright, Mr. Baggins," Fili said, suddenly coming to their rescue, "You take the cushion, and Firiel can have the lounge. Kili and I will take the floor."

From across the room, Kili bolted up from his comfortable position on the lounge.

"We'll what?" he cried.

One look from Fili (which, Kili would say, Fili had mastered after receiving it so many times from their mother), and Kili rolled his eyes, sliding off the lounge with a grumble. Bilbo looked between the three friends, and sighed a bit.

"Very well," he concurred, though quickly glared at Fili, "But I'm watching you."

Firiel giggled, and allowed Fili to lead her over.

"My lady," he smiled, extending his arm towards it with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Thank you, Fili," she giggled, scratching Kili's scalp playfully as she sat down on the lounge, "You too, Kili."

Kili shook his head as if he were a dog, comically biting the air after her hand. As Firiel curled up on the lounge, pulling her blanket over her body, Bilbo watched the brothers, who each took up a sleeping position nearby. Kili lay on the floor next to his abandoned lounge, like the guard dog he had just joked to be. Fili sat himself up against the wall and leg of the lounge, near Firiel's head, looking back and forth between the night sky and his sleeping charge. In spite of himself, Bilbo felt his heart growing heavy with a very strange sensation. Was it loneliness? He thought it to be so. His little niece was already growing up, spreading her wings and making new friends. From his cushion near the open balcony, Bilbo looked between Fili and his niece, watching the way the young dwarf prince would smile when she stirred. At one point, when her blanket fell from her shoulder, Fili, without hesitation, reached up and gently pulled it back up over her. He thought for a moment on Bofur's earlier comment. A dwarf for an in-law, he had said. Bilbo looked over the two, and, though he had never felt such romantic nonsense before in his life, that comment didn't seem to be much of a joke at all. The way Fili looked at her made him certain of that.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **Hey guys! So, this chapter is almost 11,000 words. Sorry, it's kind of long. I had to get through Goblin Town. And get through it I did. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Dawn rose that day, and, within half an hour, the company (minus Gandalf) was marching up the pass out of Rivendell, into the wilds that preceded the Misty Mountains. They were headed away from the mouth of the valley, out past the falls that flowed down Rivendell's peeks. The scaled the mountainside path, one after another, hugging tight to the stone on their left.

"Be on you guard," Thorin called back over the wind, "We are about to step over the Edge of the Wild. Balin, you know these paths, lead on."

Soon, Balin had taken the lead. Firiel noticed that her uncle had stopped to gaze back over the elven city, probably worried for Gandalf. Firiel stopped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"He'll be fine," she tried to reassure Bilbo with a little smile, "They are Gandalf's friends, after all. They won't appreciate this much, but I'm sure they have come to expect it of him."

Bilbo looked back at her, then tilted his head thoughtful with a shrug. He supposed they would have to expect it of him by then.

"Miss Firiel, Master Baggins," Thorin called to them, "I suggest you keep up."

Bilbo sighed, and he and Firiel shared a little glance of exasperation before heading off after the dwarves. Up the cliff side they marched, into the pines that lay before them. As they reached the top of their path, Firiel could see snow-covered peaks in the distance. The Misty Mountains, she finally realized them to be, did not look so misty from here. Only majestic.

* * *

Back in Rivendell, Gandalf was very much fine. In fact, he was in conference with the Lady Galadriel, the most beautiful and powerful of the Elf Lords. Many in our beloved company would never be graced with her presence, which is great shame, for she was a remarkable creature indeed.

"You are right to help Thorin Oakenshield," Lady Galadriel told Gandalf, "But, I fear this quest has set in motion forces we do not yet understand. The riddle of the Morgul Blade must be answered.

"Something moves in the shadows, unseen," she revealed to the wizard, "Hidden from our sight. It will not show itself. Not yet. But every day it grows in strength. You must be careful."

Gandalf nodded to his old and long-admired friend, taking off down the small steps from the balcony on which they spoke. He was off to follow after our company, but the Lady Galadriel's voice gave him pause.

"Mithrandir? Why the Halflings?" she asked him.

"I do not know," Gandalf turned to her and confessed after a moment, "Sarumon believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found.

"I have found it is the small things," Gandalf allowed an equally small smile to grace his lips, "The everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and he gives me courage."

The lady Galadriel took Gandalf's hand, and gently brushed one of the wizard's long grey hairs from his face.

"Do not be afraid, Mithrandir," she said, "You are not alone. _If you should ever need my help, I will come_."

Gandalf smiled at her, and the lady parted from him, turning to leave. She stopped short though.

"Though, you have not explained your reasons behind bringing the girl along," she looked back at him, a twinkle in her deep blue eyes, as if she already knew.

At that, Gandalf chuckled. Of course she knew; she just wanted to hear him say it.

"Love, my lady," the wizard smiled again, "It is the most powerful magic in this universe. And she bursts with it. From every follicle and pour of her being. For every creature on this Earth who shows her kindness. For all things in this world that bring joy and happiness to those around her. Love can turn the tide of battle, stop death in its tracks, and bring light and life into this world. Surely, there is nothing more terrifying to the darkness than the very root of all creation itself. If anything, my lady, she gives me hope."

* * *

As they wandered through the wilderness on foot, Firiel realized truly just how far from home she was. Gone were any lush green fields and soft apple and oak trees she was used to. They had been replaced by dry, wind-scarred grass, rock, and tough pines that jutted out from the volatile terrain. Anything that grew in this place already looked to be sick and dying.

"Ow," she cried suddenly, and then muttered to herself as she stopped to pick a jagged rock out from between her toes, "Curse this place! I wish I'd brought shoes. I wish I even wore shoes!"

This had caused Fili and Kili to give a great laugh, and they stopped to wait, but Firiel waved them on ahead. They could not afford to slow their pace. Thorin was booking it through these wilds. He wanted to make the mountains by nightfall, in case the rains came and they were in need of a cave, he said. And they were making good speed too. Firiel was mightily impressed, and, thanks to all the elves' delicious greenery and new clothes, she was off like a shot. She had no trouble keeping up with the dwarves today, and Balin was the first to notice the extra spring in her step.

"Well, my dear," Balin huffed from behind her, "It seems we've been feeding you wrong."

"So it would seem," Firiel smiled back at him, slowing her pace to keep in step with the old dwarf, "How are you three fairing back here?"

Balin was in the back of the herd with Oin and Bombur, and all three were huffing and puffing like hard-driven livestock. Balin and Oin were old men, and Firiel felt it a little cruel to drive them on like that.

"Would you like me to ask Thorin if we could slow our pace?" Firiel asked them, growing even more concerned when she noticed how red Bombur was.

"Oh no, my dear girl," Balin smiled at her, clearly unnerved by the idea, "We'd better not. He'll wait for us is we fall back too far, don't you worry. Run along ahead with Fili and Kili now. Our princes keep checking behind for you anyways."

Firiel looked up ahead and noticed Balin was right. Fili (mostly) and Kili kept checking behind their shoulders for her. Firiel shook her head and bid Balin to call up if he needed her before she ran up to the brothers. Her burst of speed had given her a second wind, but the boys did not seem nearly so energetic.

"What's got you two so down?" she asked.

"The rubbish we ate for dinner yesterday," Kili grumbled, "My whole belly aches."

"Actually, that would be all the alcohol and grease you washed that so called rubbish down with," Firiel noted plainly before changing the subject, "Do you think we'll really reach the mountains by nightfall?"

"Hard to say," Fili considered, "I hope so, otherwise Thorin may drive us into the night."

"And the next day," Kili added with a pained little chuckle.

It seemed their fears would not be realized though. By late morning, they were passing under a spring that flowed down over the rock from the mountains. Though, as fate would dictate, they were of course heading for the absolute farthest mountain in the bunch. Firiel had rolled her eyes when Kili had told her, but pressed on nonetheless. Nobody was much for conversation today, but neither was she, to be honest. By early afternoon, they had finally reached the snow-covered base of their mountain, and began to climb along the rocky hills. The ground tilted fiercely, and Firiel nearly slipped.

"Got you," Fili had grabbed her hand and pulled her straight, "Hang on to me, alright?"

She nodded, and, for the remainder of their trek up to the top pass, held on to some part of Fili, be it his arm, bag, or hand. His hand was definitely her favourite of the options. She could feel the sheer heat and size of it as it (no pun intended) dwarfed her own. Once they reached the top, which was a sort of spine, it would seem, Firiel was able to let go and walk by herself, though she remained mindful of every step. One wrong move and she'd break an ankle. They walked along the steep paths for hours, until they found themselves, by nighttime, scaling up against a sheer drop, pressed tightly to the rock wall beside them. And, to their absolute horror, a rainstorm was beginning to fall upon them. There had been no caves in sight for this entire journey, and Firiel was beginning to fear that there were none at all along this road.

Within minutes, the rainstorm grew into a massive thunderstorm. Lightning cracked the skies, and thunder shook the rocks. Firiel could have sworn she heard someone calling out for them to hold on, but she didn't need to be told twice. She already had both her hands to the wall at all times, Fili and Kili pressed almost completely overtop of her as they tried to break the wind that they feared would carry her away. Suddenly, from just behind her, Firiel heard a cry that made her heart stop.

"Bilbo!" Dwalin screamed.

Firiel looked back and saw her beloved uncle had almost fallen off the cliff, if not for Dwalin and Bifur grabbing his pack.

"We must find shelter," Thorin yelled over the wind.

"Look out!" Dwalin cried.

Of course, that's what everyone did, and they soon saw was Dwalin was yelling about. A giant boulder was hurtling through the clouds and down towards them. It crashed just above their pathway, shattering and raining down on them like a small avalanche. The dwarves and hobbits all huddled back against the wall, crying out in distress. With one hand grasped tight to his brother's sleeve, Fili pressed himself overtop of Firiel. He could see the terror and confusion in her eyes.

"What's happening?" she asked him, "What was that?"

Before he could even begin to formulate an answer, the company heard Balin call out over the noise.

"This is no thunderstorm," he cried, "It's a thunder-battle! Look!"

Before Firiel could even ask what that was, she saw a giant made of the mountain's rock pulling itself from the cliff side. She could hardly believe her eyes. She hadn't read about this! The giant, once free, pulled a rock off the mountain.

"Well, bless me," Bofur cried, "The legends are true! Giants! Stone-giants!"

No sooner had the words left Bofur's mouth did the aforementioned giant lift the rock above its head and hurl it towards them. But it wasn't them the giant was aiming for. The rock hurled into yet another giant who had appeared behind them from the rocks, smashing back its head. Bofur was still staring out at the ledge.

"Take cover, you fool," Thorin ordered.

"Hold on," Dwalin cried.

More rocks and debris rained down on them, knocking off bits and pieces of their ledge until there was not much left. Fili let go of his brother for a moment in order to better brace himself and Firiel against the wall. And soon, their wall began to move.

"What's happening?" Kili cried.

"Kili!" he heard Firiel cry out.

Fili looked up and saw his brother being carried away from him.

"Kili," he yelled, "Grab my hand!"

Kili tried, but he was already too far out of reach. Fili looked on after his brother in despair. How could he have let go? Firiel felt that they were moving away just as quickly, and looked up.

The company found that they had been standing on the kneecaps of yet another stone-giant. It moved to stand, which would have killed them all, but the first giant came forwards and butted half this new one's head right off, knocking it back into the mountain. Soon, they were hurling towards no one knew where, screaming at the tops of their lungs. The kneecap that held Firiel's half of the company jutted back and moved more safely, and, to her and Fili's relief, Kili's side reached another ledge just perfect for their escape. The relief quickly ended though when the giant they were riding stood again to do battle. All Firiel could remember was a blur of screams and flying stones as she held on to whatever she could grasp for dear life. She soon saw that they were passing right in front of where the other half of the company had jumped to safety.

"Jump!" she heard Thorin cry, "Come on!"

But it was too late. They were gone past, and their giant had been beaten. Firiel heard herself screaming as she and the others hurled toward the side of the mountain. She dug her hands into Fili and took a deep breath. If she was going to die, at least this was an epic way to go. Crushed to death during a stone-giant battle.

She and the others were slammed up into the wall, and there was a brief pain and pressure. Then, suddenly, release. Was she dead? The sudden fall of rain on her face told her otherwise.

"Firiel! Firiel?" Fili was calling to her, "Are you alright? Say something?"

Firiel opened her eyes and found herself face first in someone's crest. She looked up and saw Fili, curled around her with a look of panic on his face. She noted immediately that he was covered in rock dust, and brushed it off his face. A smile soon replaced that look of panic.

"They're alright!" she heard someone yelling, "They're alive!"

"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur cried, "Where's the hobbit?! There!"

At that, Firiel and the rest of them were on their feet. Bilbo was hanging off the ledge, clinging on for dear life and trying to pull himself up, grunting and failing all the while.

"Uncle!" she screamed, trying to rush forward to him.

The ledge was too thin, and Fili had to pull her back. Ori, Bofur, and Dwalin were soon on their bellies, reaching down for Bilbo. Firiel shrieked as he slid off the rocks and downwards, only to catch himself just slightly out of the dwarves reach. Thorin quickly hung himself off the ledge and grabbed on to her uncle, heaving him up enough for the others to grab him. In that act though, Thorin lost his footing, and was only barely caught by Dwalin.

"Thorin!" everyone cried.

It took all of Dwalin's strength to pull the king up, but up he came, and the danger was soon passed.

"Ah," Dwalin sighed in relief, "I thought we'd lost our burglar."

Thorin reeled on Bilbo though.

"He's been lost ever since he left home," the dwarf snapped, "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

A long-forgotten rage against Thorin remerged in Firiel. She shook off Fili's hand and stepped towards Thorin.

"What gives you the right to-," Firiel started up, but when Thorin looked on her with that glare of his, she was silenced.

"Nor does this one," he barked, glaring down at her with a hatred so deep she knew not from whence it came, "Tell me: what use have you been to us since you began this journey? A woman like you should learn when best to hold her tongue."

Firiel stared back at Thorin, stunned, and unable to answer him. What use had she been? She hadn't done a thing except cling to Fili and Kili, and allow them to shepherd her along on the trip. She knew in her mind Thorin was not wrong about her, but he was very much wrong about Bilbo. Thorin, seeing he had won, strode past her and into an indent, which looked to be that cave they had so long needed.

"Thorin-," Fili tried to come to her and Bilbo's defense.

"And you," Thorin glared at his nephew, "Not a word."

Fili was effectively silenced as well, and instead turned to help pull Bombur to his feet.

"Dwalin," Thorin soon called out, and Dwalin strode into the cave after him.

Soon, everyone was herded in to the cave except Firiel, who remained out in the rain. She stood out there, alone in her thoughts, until she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up, and saw it was Fili. He had come back out for her. He held his cloak over their heads like an umbrella.

"Come on," he said, giving her a gentle nudge, "It's not safe out here."

Once they were inside, Fili took off towards Kili and embraced his younger brother with great joy. They were alive, and together. Though, it was inside a rather cold, damp, and unwelcoming cave. Rocks jutted from the ceiling like flesh-marring teeth, and the ground was nothing but sand. That would get caught in some unwelcome places. Gloin threw a bundle of amazingly dry sticks on the ground.

"Right, then, let's get a fire going," Gloin was attempting to lighten the mood somewhat.

"No" Thorin snapped, "No fires. Not in this place. Get some sleep. We start at first light."

"We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us," Balin tried to remind Thorin, "That was the plan."

"Plans change," Thorin stated simply before turning to Bofur, "Bofur, take the first watch."

They were leaving without Gandalf now? Firiel did not like where this was going. What on Earth was the matter with Thorin? Sure, a near-death scare can bring out some bad things in people, but they had all just had one. That couldn't be the only thing. He clearly had bigger worries on his mind that she was not aware of.

* * *

Later in the night, when everyone was asleep, Firiel felt herself being shaken in consciousness. She flailed a bit and almost screamed, until she saw it was Bilbo. Her uncle had woken her up in the dead of night in a horrifyingly strange place. She was not happy.

"Uncle, what on Earth are you-?"

"Shhhh," Bilbo placed his finger to his lips, handing Firiel her pack, "We're going home."

Firiel bolted up.

"What?!" she whisper-yelled, earning herself another shush, "What do you mean? Why?"

"Come on," he roused her into a standing position, handing her her sword, "It's not safe here. I'm taking us both home."

"Uncle," Firiel tried to say something, but off he was gone towards the entryway, "Uncle!"

She chased after him, tiptoeing over the dwarves as she belted her sword and knife to her waist. She saw Bofur was still on watch and waved her arms madly, which caught his attention just in time, for Bilbo was almost out the entryway. Bofur bounded upright in his seat.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bofur demanded of him quietly.

Bilbo stopped and turned back towards Bofur and Firiel, glaring at his niece pointedly.

"Back to Rivendell," he told the dwarf, "We both are."

Bofur leapt from his seat, his eyes wide and wounded as he looked between the two hobbits. Firiel put her hands in front of her, signalling that she wanted no part in it.

"No, no, you can't turn back now, eh?" Bofur whispered to Bilbo, "You're part of the company. Both of you are. You're one of us."

"I'm not though, am I?" Bilbo shot back, "Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took. I'm a Baggins. I don't know what I was thinking. And I can't just leave my niece with a group of strange men on a suicide mission. I should never have run out my door."

Her poor uncle looked as though he was about to cry and Firiel came forward to rub his shoulder. He smiled at her, accepting the affection immediately.

"Uncle, if Thorin is right about anyone, it's me," she told him frankly, "But he's wrong about you. You can't give up now, not when we're so close. We can't do this without you."

"You're homesick," Bofur tried to reason with Bilbo, "I understand."

"No, you don't," Bilbo grew irritated at the mere mention of understanding, "You don't understand. None of you do. You're dwarves! You're used to this life. To living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere!"

Firiel pulled her hand back at that as though Bilbo had just caught fire, unable to believe what had just come out of his mouth. The look on Bofur's face settled into the pit of her stomach with a sickening sludge. He looked as though Bilbo had just struck him across the face. Bilbo saw it too.

"I am sorry," Bilbo told him, less large than he was a moment ago, "I didn't..."

Bilbo could not seem to find the right words to express himself and cleared his throat to buy time, but Bofur didn't need it.

"No, you're right," Bofur murmured sadly, turning back to look out over the company, "We don't belong anywhere."

Something wrenched in Firiel's gut, sticking itself in through her stomach and twisting back up into her heart as she followed Bofur's gaze. As she looked out on those sleeping faces, wondering what sweet dreams and dreamless sleeps they were having, something pulled her back towards the innards of the cave. How could she leave them now? When they needed her help? She turned back to Bilbo from her place in the centre of the room, and looked at him, pleading. She couldn't leave these men now. They had become like a family to her.

"Uncle," she murmured, "Please."

Bilbo gazed out at her, beaten yet not defeated. He was going, but she could stay if she chose to. She didn't know which hurt more; that he was leaving, or that he was leaving without her. Bofur seemed to understand.

"I wish you all the luck in the world," he told Bilbo, smiling and putting his hand on Bilbo's shoulder, "I really do. And, don't worry, we'll take good care of her."

Bilbo smiled and clapped his arm in return. Firiel rushed forwards to give her uncle a quick goodbye embrace, and, once she was standing back with Bofur, he turned away. But Firiel and Bofur noticed something.

"What's that?" Bofur asked, stopping him.

Bilbo turned back, as if he were thoroughly unamused, but it was then he saw it too. His sword was glowing bright blue. Firiel looked down, and noticed hers doing the same. She and Bilbo looked at one another, panic in their eyes. They were not alone.

At first, it was only the sound of rushing sand they heard. Then Firiel saw it, the sand was draining out in cracks along the floor. Thorin stirred from his place, and sat up abruptly.

"Wake up," he ordered, "Wake up!"

This caused everyone to give a jump, and Bofur fell back. Where he hit the ground, the whole floor turned out under them. Firiel shrieked as she fell, and heard several voices calling after her before they soon joined her own in a chorus of fright. All she knew was that she was falling. Tumbling downwards, deep underground in the mountain. Soon, she was shot out a spout and landed on someone she believed to be Bombur. The lightest among them, Firiel and Bilbo had come out last and landed relatively unscathed. It looked like they had landed in a bowl. But the excitement didn't stop there.

"Look out! Look out!" the dwarves cried.

Firiel looked up and saw a hoard of the most vile-looking creatures she had ever seen were rushing towards them. Thinking quickly, she grabbed her pack, which had fallen with her, and put in on. The creatures leapt upon the company and their gnarled fingers grabbed at the dwarves, pulling them up and shoving them off somewhere. Having now seen orcs, she could only guess that these were goblins. Now Firiel could honestly say that, out of the two, she found goblins to be more horrifying. At least the orcs she had seen looked somewhat artfully mangled, whereas these goblins were just ugly, with their chalky, infested skin, upward-facing nostrils, pointed teeth, and beady eyes. Gross, whereas orcs seemed simply grotesque. There was a difference.

She watched as they took biting chunks of flesh out of one another, fighting over who got to grab at the dwarves. The dwarves tried to fight them off, but there were just too many. When one tried to grab at her, it received one mean right hook to its jaw from Dwalin. The next one took a tackle from Fili, but there were just too many goblins. Firiel was soon grabbed by one anyways, and, like so few of the dwarves, elected not to protest too much. She saw Kili in front of her taking the same approach, and he didn't appear to have any new cuts or bruises. Down through the goblins' lair they were herded like sheep, wandering deeper and deeper underground. The farther down they were pulled, the more Firiel could hear something over the growls and snarls of her captors.

_Even goblins have music_, she thought with oddly-timed humour.

As they were lead out into a giant catacomb, the heart of this goblin city, the song came on loud and clear. And what a beastly tune it was. Horribly out of tune horns and poorly made gongs blared all through the air, accompanied further by the snarls of these gruesome creatures. As they were rushed towards their seemingly final destination, Firiel saw a sight she would never forget. The largest, fattest, most grotesque goblin she had ever seen was sat atop a wooden throne, wearing a wooden crown and wielding a wooden staff. His chin looked more like an infected abscess waiting to be popped than a chin, and hung limply from his face. In fact, his belly and limbs had a similar appearance. It made Firiel want to vomit. The vile creature, to make matters worse, began to sing in a horrifyingly bad tenor.

"_Clap! Snap! the black crack,_

_Grip, grab! Pinch, and nab!_

_Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!_

_Pound, pound! Far underground!_

_Down, down, down in Goblin Town!"_

The goblins in the catacomb soon joined in like a chorus, and poor Firiel's ears were failing to catch it all. This was some sort of bad dream. It had to be. There was absolutely no way she was having a day like this. She'd nearly been crushed by stone-giants, and now she was being serenaded by goblins as they pulled her glowing sword from her waist. When the fat king began to dance, she was entirely done for the day.

"_With a swish and a smack! And a whip and a crack!_

_Everybody talks when their on the rack,_

_Round, round, far underground,_

_Down, down, down in Goblin Town!_

_Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!_

_You won't last long on the end of my prong!"_

He stabbed a goblin with his staff for effect, who howled before slipping into a merciful death. The company all stood around her, looking equally confused and amazed by the awful display they were witnessing. She would have counted out who was among them, but this was becoming almost too horrifying to look away.

"_Clash, crash! Crush and smash!_

_Bang, wreck! Chisel and check!_

_Quiver and yelp! There ain't no help!_

_Down, down, far underground!_

_Down, down, down in Goblin Town!"_

The song had finally finished, with the king giving a great spin on his final note. Everyone on his platform had to duck for fear of losing their heads. The goblin king headed back to his throne, using a series of smaller goblins as a footstool. Firiel looked about and saw her companions were not nearly so utterly amused as she was. Once the king was seated, he leered down at them.

"Catchy, isn't it?" he asked, "It's one of my own compositions."

Firiel couldn't contain her snort

"That's not a song!" Balin cried, "That's an abomination!"

The goblins all cheered at that, and Balin's insult seemed to have a rather opposite effect.

"Abomination, mutations, deviations, that's all you're gonna find down here," the king stated proudly, gesturing out to his kingdom.

Firiel put the head in her hands, trying not to cry with her well-hidden laughter. The fact that they were in mortal peril crossed her mind briefly, but she had finally had enough of this for one day. Nothing they did to her could be much worse than that song. The dwarves around her stared at her a bit.

"Well, she's lost it, Lads," she heard Bofur mutter to the others.

"Now," the great goblin came tumbling down from his throne again to loom over them, "Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies, thieves, assassins?!"

"Dwarves, Your Malevolence," one goblin said plainly.

"Dwarves?!" the king cried dramatically.

"We found them on the front porch," the goblin continued.

"Well, don't just stand there," the beast hollered, "Search them! Every crack, every crevice!"

At that, Firiel felt her nerves return, and she froze. What would they do once they realized she wasn't a dwarf? What would they do when they realized she wasn't even a man? Why was she waiting to find out? The dwarves, their wits quicker than her own at the moment, pulled her into the centre of their huddle as the goblins descended upon them. Their attempted defense was in vain though, for soon Firiel felt a thin, ghastly hand grasping at her left arm. She immediately reacted by grabbing the hand and twisting it way, pushing it back sharply until she heard a mighty crack. The creature hollered and disappeared beneath the fists of her protectors. Firiel screamed though as one of them grabbed her hair and tried to yank her out of the pile by it. The caught the attention of the goblin king.

"Stop!" he cried out.

Every soul froze. The king peered out upon his prisoners, searching their faces one by one. When his blood-shot, squinting eyes landed on Firiel, his face took on a look that made her insides shrivel up.

"You!" the king trust a fat, gnarled finger in her direction, "Bring the little one to me!"

At the king's command, a grimy hand grabbed Firiel by her pack, hauled her up, and threw her forwards. The dwarves reached out and tried to pull her back, shouting and fighting to get to her, but it was too late. She stumbled forwards and stood before the giant goblin, miraculously landing on her feet. He smelled as vile as he looked, Firiel noted instantly. The king stared down at her, regarding her as though she were the disgusting one.

"You are no dwarf," he sneered, a wicked smiled growing on his ghastly lips, "Why, you are not even a man!"

Firiel felt bile rise up in her throat, and realized nothing was holding her. She turned to run free, but was quickly grabbed from each side. Her captors turned her to face the company, and forced her to her knees. She felt a cool, sharp edge come up against the back of her neck. These goblins were not nearly so silly as they had seemed before.

"Miss Firiel," she heard Ori cry.

"No!" Fili's voice rang out over the hooting and hollering of the goblins, "Let her go!"

Firiel's gaze shot up towards him. He was pale, and his eyes were wide. A look she had seen briefly as Kili had drifted away from them on the rocks earlier that night. They stared at one another, eyes wide and chests rising and falling rapidly. It was like if either of them looked away, the other would be lost forever. The goblins laughed around them, no doubt having seen this a hundred thousand times in all their years of ambushing travellers. Their king's laughter was the loudest, most horrifyingly knowing of them all. He took one rank finger and put it under the hobbit's chin, forcing her to look up at him. Firiel glared, trying to appear brave. Although she felt anything but. Her trembling limbs gave her away, and the great goblin gave a triumphant sneer. Though he thought her horrifically clean, plainly unmarred, and disgustingly uninfested, he knew above-grounders valued this sort of look in their women. He had a good bargaining chip.

"Oh, I will," the king's voice boomed, looking back at the dwarves with disgusting confidence, "As long as you answer me truthfully."

Fili looked at the goblin king, then back to her. Firiel gave him a subtle shake of her head, her eyes pleading with him. The goblins couldn't know who they were, or where they were going. Though she didn't know much, she knew that instinctively. She glanced up at the faces of her companions, who all looked pale and shaken. She fixed them all with the same look she had given Fili. They looked back at her, a little lost at her actions. Thorin, in spite of himself, was impressed.

She did not look nearly so afraid as she thought she did.

A goblin that had been going through their belongings suddenly reared back from the pack she knew to be Nori's, holding a very familiar candlestick.

"Your Malevolence," the goblin wailed, "They are in league with elves!"

The king picked up the candlestick and examined the bottom of it.

"Made in Rivendell," he read before tossing it away, "Second Age; you couldn't give it away!"

Dori and Ori glared at their brother.

"Just a couple of keepsakes," Nori protested.

The goblin king loomed over them once more.

"What are you doing in these parts?" he demanded fiercely.

Thorin moved to step forward, but Oin placed a hand on his shoulder. He sent Firiel a little wink, and she immediately felt more at ease. Someone had a plan.

"Don't worry, Lads," the dwarf smiled at them, stepping forwards, "I'll handle this."

"No tricks," the goblin king slammed down his staff as he sat back on his throne, "I want the truth!"

"You're going to have to speak up," was Oin's ornery response, "Your boys flattened my trumpet."

At that, he held up his hearing-horn, as Firiel liked to call it, and saw that it had indeed been destroyed. Flattened and bent beyond use. At least the lucky bastard would miss any more singing if it occurred. The goblin king seemed to have thankfully forgotten she was there in his irritation, as he tumbled and rumbled down again towards old Oin.

"I'll flatten more than your trumpet," he threatened, smashing a tower of God-knew-what off the platform.

That was his plan? Irritate the beast?! Bofur suddenly rushed forwards as the others reared back.

"If it's more information you want, I'm the one you should speak to," Bofur cried.

The great goblin, not a bright one, stopped his rampage. He clearly had the sense to be suspicious, at least, though the goblin made a noise for him to continue. The dwarves, who had thought they were going to be trampled to death, sighed in relief. Bofur took a deep breath, and began to talk right out of his arse.

"We were on the road," he began, licking his lips, "Well, not so much the road as it was a path. Actually, it's not even that, come to think of it. It's more of a track. And the point it, we were on this road, like a path or a track, and then we weren't. Which is a problem, because uh-we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday."

At that, Bofur looked back at the others for some sort of agreement, which they all gave in their own grumbling way.

"Visiting distant relations," Dori chimed, poking his head forward for a minute.

"Some inbreds on me mother's side," Bofur nodded along, "And-."

"SHUT UP!" the goblin king commanded.

All the goblins reared back in fright, but Bofur simply inhaled a bit and firmly shut his trap. That had gotten them a whole lot of nowhere.

"I grow tired of your games, Dwarves! Now, what are you doing in my kingdom?" the goblin repeated, pronouncing each word with irritation, "Speak!"

When no one spoke, the king simply sneered.

"Very well! If they will not talk, we'll make them squawk!" he cried, and the goblins cheered in delight, "Bring up the mangler! Bring up the bonebreaker!

"Start with the girl!" he snarled, pointing his grubby paw down at Firiel.

The goblins hollered and howled in absolute ecstasy. Firiel realized that, for the third time that day, she was going to die. Though this was getting a little redundant, this time was by far the most horrifying. They were going to torture her. Break her bones apart and mangle her flesh into unrecognisable shapes. And what would they do with what was left? Even if any of them did talk, it wasn`t as though they were going to be allowed to live.

"Wait!" a voice boomed out over the noise.

It was Thorin, coming to her rescue. The last person on Earth she thought would speak for her. He pushed through the company to face the goblin king. He did not need to say anything, and the goblin king's eyes widened in childlike pleasure and delight. Firiel knew that that was not good.

"Well, well, well," the king grinned, turning to announce mockingly, "Look who it is. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror; King Under the Mountain."

The goblin king gave a flourishing curtsy, and the goblin hoards laughed along with him. The king suddenly straightened.

"Oh, but I'm forgetting. You don't have a mountain," he jabbed, "And you're not a king. Which makes you nobody, really."

The two stared each other down, the contempt between them almost palatable.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head," the goblin sneered, laughing at himself as he continued with, "Just a head. Nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak. An old enemy of yours."

Thorin glared up at the goblin, and offered no reply.

"A pale orc," the goblin king took great pleasure in saying, "Astride a white warg."

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed," Thorin insisted quietly, dangerously, his tone wavering slightly with emotion, "He was slain in battle long ago."

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" the goblin king loomed over him, his rotting flesh jiggling with his mad chuckles.

Firiel watched as Thorin's glare turned to a look of horrified realization. The goblin king turned towards a little goblin who sat suspended from a rope with a notepad.

"Send word to the pale orc," he instructed the creature, "Tell him I have found his prize."

Prize? Was that who had been hunting them? Thorin and Balin's bedtime story menace seemed all the more real to her now. The king turned back to them again, looking down at her with consideration.

"Throw her back into the pile," he instructed loftily, "I have no special use for her now."

The goblins did as ordered, and Firiel was not so gracefully flung at her companions. Bofur caught her without much difficulty, and helped to steady her before passing her off to someone's waiting arms. Firiel snuggled into Fili, holding tight to him and shaking like a leaf.

"Are you alright?" his voice was soft in her ear.

"Ah! Excellent! The mangler!" the goblin king announced with malice, "And the bonecrusher! What do you say we have a little fun with our guests?"

The goblins roared with exhilaration after having been kept in anticipation for quite long enough. Firiel looked out and saw the two most ghastly-looking machines. They looked like a combination of every torture devise she had ever read about. There were rotting bits of the goblins' last victims still hanging from the sharp spikes and maces. The goblins began to sing, and Firiel felt tears spring to her eyes. She looked up at Fili as they began to roll down her cheeks like fat raindrops.

"Oh god," she whispered, trying to wipe them away in vain, "We're going to die!"

He couldn't describe how helpless he felt in that moment. Even more helpless than he had when she'd been held at blade's end. At least then, she had seemed settled. She hadn't wept. She had acted as any good leader would have, guiding the others to her wishes with a single glance. Now, she was falling apart, truly giving in to that fear and sharing it with him. He couldn't fix it, nor did he think it needed to be fixed. It truly looked as though they were going to die. And she wasn't ready yet. Neither was he. But he couldn't cry. Not when she needed him. He placed his hand on her cheek and looked into her eyes.

"Keep near to me," he told her, stroking away a tear with his thumb, "Keep near to me, and everything will be alright."

Before Firiel could reply, she felt goblin hands ripping at her back to pull her away. She grabbed tight to Fili again as they tried to pull her away. She wouldn't let go, and neither would he. The goblin king began to sing another rhyme, but it was quickly interrupted by the ringing of steal and the shriek of a terrified goblin. Thorin's sword, partially unsheathed, clattered to the ground, almost blinding in the presence of these beasts. The goblins all clamoured away from it, including their king, who nearly climbed to the top of his throne.

"I know that sword!" the king wailed, "It is the Goblin-cleaver! The Biter! The sword that has sliced a thousand necks!"

Once to initial shock wore off, the goblins were on them with flails and whips, pulling them to the ground and brutalizing every body part they could get their hands on. Firiel was soon thrown to the ground under Fili's weight, crying out as whip cracked over his shoulder. The razor sharp ends clipped her nose and forehead, leaving two clean cuts, one above her right nostril and the other up across the inner edge of her eyebrow. They just barely missed her actual eye. Fili he pulled her tighter beneath him, taking most of the blows that rained down. She thought her tears were going to burn holes through her skull, if the weight she was bearing didn't crush her first.

"Slash them! Beat them! Kill them!" the great goblin shrieked in terror, "Kill them all! Cut off his head!"

At that final order, a brilliant burst of blue light pulsed forth throughout the catacomb. It knocked everyone back and to their knees, and suddenly Firiel could breathe. The torches around them had almost blown out, and no one moved for they were dazed and confused. Firiel looked about, the only one not knocked into a temporary stupor. The shadow of a man in a pointy hat came towards them. The lights returned to full strength, and it was revealed to be Gandalf.

"Take up arms," the wizard said, "Fight. Fight!"

Firiel didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling out from under Fili's leg, she crawled on hands and knees towards the pike of weapons. With a great battle cry, the dwarves soon joined her, gathering up their arms. She first dug out her hunting knife, frightened it may have fallen between wooden planks into the darkness below. Her sword, small and glowing, was easy to find amongst the larger weapons of the dwarves, and she quickly strapped her weapons to her waist. Fili was behind her, and she tossed him his twin swords before a goblin grabbed at her ankle and pulled her back from the pile. Firiel kicked it off with a strength she hadn't known she had possessed, and Kili was quick to pull her up as Fili reared on the goblin. As they all scrambled, Gandalf took on the goblins who rushed him with a skill unbefitting his aged appearance, cutting them down expertly with his sword.

"He wields the Foehammer!" the goblin king cried from his knew place on the ground, "The Beater! Bright as daylight!"

Indeed it was. Firiel, Gandalf, and Thorin's swords were glowing like miniature suns, the presence of all these goblins making them sing angrily. The dwarves gathered their weapons up and, one by one, began to fight. Firiel had never actually had to use this sword in her life, but tried to apply some of the knife principles Dwalin had taught her. It was sort of working in terms of blocking the occasional blow, though without Fili and Kili she would have surely been skewered on a few occasions.

"You're not fighting with a toothpick anymore, Lass!" she heard Dwalin cry out as he went by her, chasing a fleeing goblin.

Firiel had stopped focusing to pay attention to Dwalin's words, and a goblin came right at her, sword in the air. She blocked its crude weapon just in time, and pushed her attacker right off. Adrenaline pumping, she didn't give the beast a chance to recover and rushed it, slamming her sword through the goblin's chest. She must have hit it dead in the heart, for its eyes went wide before it almost immediately slumped over. She had never killed before.

She had no time to dwell on what that meant though, for she barely ripped her sword from the dead goblin in time to block another attack. She had literally no idea what she was doing, and she didn't like it. It was rather stressful, to say the least.

"Thorin!" she heard Nori cry out suddenly.

She looked in time to see Thorin and the goblin king rushing at one another. Thorin literally ripped his sword from its sheath, and slammed it up against the goblin king's staff, knocking the giant creature back into his throne. The throne crumbled though, and down the great king tumbled from the platform, screaming as he dropped. She, Gandalf, and the rest of the dwarves continued to fight, disarming, beating, and slicing the goblins away. They were beginning to clear a path.

"Follow me! Quick!" she heard Gandalf's voice over the noise.

She looked to see the wizard heading back up the bridge from whence he had come, and turned without a thought to follow him. They chased after him across the rickety wooden bridge, one by one, weapons in hand.

"Run!" Gandalf yelled out to them as they rushed through the tunnels, as if they needed to be reminded, "Quickly!"

Firiel didn't even look back, nor did she need to, for Fili was just in front of her, and she could hear Kili just behind. She could also hear the goblins hollering and the thunder of their footsteps fast encroaching on them.

"Faster!" Nori yelled from behind her.

Suddenly the goblins were coming at them from the front too, and they had to stop. There wasn't the time though, or they'd be swallowed whole. Dwalin seemed to get an idea from the front, and hammered one of the few side rails off their bridge.

"Post!" Dwalin cried, picking it up.

Firiel quickly got the idea and grabbed hold of it, the others following suit. The end of this post was pretty perfectly sharpened. If they couldn't run through them, they'd have to run them through.

"Charge!" Dwalin called.

What they did with the post hadn't been quite what Firiel was expecting. Instead of simply skewering the goblins, they used the post to sweep whole lines of them from the bridge. Strange, but effective, for that goblins were not expecting it and all tumbled easily. Once the path seemed relatively clear, she and the others in the front dropped the post and took off again. Goblins were climbing back up the bridge though, and soon they were bashing and slashing them out of the way. Firiel ducked from and leapt over the hands that reached for her, slicing off a few that ventured too near for her liking. Gandalf, who was now just in front of Fili, was large enough and impressively skilled enough that most of the goblins were taken care of by the time it came to her. As they passed along the passes, the goblins soon became too thick in numbers for their breakneck pace, and they were forced to stop running and fight their way along.

Firiel was quick to notice the sheer skill of all her companions. Fili and Kili were clearly the fittest, but they didn't nearly match up with Thorin in terms of pure skill. Oin and Balin extremely impressive, their great strength, endurance, and skill clearly not diminished by age. Even Ori, though the meekest, could give a pretty decent hit with his hammer. Firiel was beginning to grow rather impressed with her own skills, for she found herself needing Fili and Kili's assistance less and less with each passing moment of battle. Fili noticed as well, and even witnessed her quickly and gracefully disarm an attacking goblin with a force he hadn't even known she was capable of producing.

"There you go, that's it!" Fili cheered her on, "Upper left!"

She moved without thinking and slashed her encroaching foe across the belly, the force knocking it into the abyss below. The instinctual ferocity she had displayed when they'd faced those trolls in the valleys was nothing compared to this. It was as though her will to live had sprung up like a tiger awoken from a long slumber. She really didn't realize how good she was at all this. How damn good she looked. The heat that rose in his belly wasn't just from the battle.

The continued on their way again, and found their bridge-way ended. They jumped down, and were reunited with a half of the company that Firiel hadn't even known they had lost. There was no time to count heads though, and they continued along.

"Quickly!" Gandalf called.

They continued to slash their way through, seemingly reunited, and soon came upon a rather instable looking bridge that actually ended abruptly, with no way for them to climb across. Firiel didn't notice until she was on it though, and almost immediately put the brakes on.

"Go, go, go!" Bombur shouted from the rear.

Suddenly, they were swinging towards the other side, and Firiel almost lost her lunch as she looked down into the ravine below them. Someone yelled for them to jump when they neared, and Bofur, Bombur and Balin were off with a grunt. As they swung back, goblins leapt without fear onto the swinging bridge, and they had to fight and swing. As it came round the second time, Firiel found that she couldn't jump. She just couldn't. As most of the company passed, she felt someone scoop her up over their shoulder and make the mad dash. She screamed as she soon found herself sailing over the pit to safety, shaking so violently that Fili feared putting her down once they landed. He tucked one arm under her bum and sliced the rope that attached their bridge with the other. The goblins plummeted into the darkness below. He set Firiel on her feet, giving her an apologetic look when she glared at him.

"I couldn't leave you there," he said with a small shrug.

She smiled a bit at that in spite of herself, and they took off once again behind the others. They continued through the tunnels, and it seemed as if the rain of goblin attack would never end. As they neared a stone wall, Gandalf blasted a boulder down for them to roll down the hill. This was to great effect with Dwalin in the lead, and the boulder crushed every goblin in their path before rolling off a cliff as they turned abruptly to the left. One more fight through a cloud of their foe, and they passed through into another catacomb. One which seemed to leave the goblin hollows and head out of the mountain. They were going to make it. Firiel could have cried when she saw that it was clearly the front door.

As they came upon their final bridge though, that joy wash quickly washed away. The goblin king, apparently alive, burst up through the wood to block their path. Gloin and Dori, who had been in the lead, reared back behind Gandalf, who stood forwards to protect the company. The king stood tall, and pounded his staff on the wood, to which his subjects appeared to crowd along the sides of the door.

"You thought you could escape me?!" the king cried.

The goblin brought his staff above his head, and tried to bring it down on Gandalf. The wizard dodged and leapt back from the goblin's assaults. He nearly fell back, but Ori and Nori reached up to stabilize him.

"What are you going to do now, wizard?" the goblin king mocked.

Gandalf clearly did not appreciate the tone, for he shot forward and poked his staff up into the goblin king's left eye. The creature reared back to cover his eye, and Gandalf took the opportunity to slash him right across the belly. Firiel could see his organs nearly spill out of him as he fell to his knees.

"That'll do it," the goblin muttered glumly.

Gandalf wasted no time and slashed the beast's throat, cutting in to his flesh beard. The goblin king fell forwards, dead. Firiel's relief was short-lived though, for the goblin king's weight had cracked off their section of the bridge. She quickly grabbed hold of Fili and Kili before they began to plummet down into the depths of the mountain.

She knew her screams weren't the only ones, but she couldn't hear anything over hers as they crashed down through wooden platforms and skidded down the slope of the drop. She held on to the brothers for dear life, and squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel that the drop was not nearly so vertical as when it had started, and soon they were simply sliding down a steep hill towards who-knew-where. That soon changed as they came over an edge, and dropped right off. Thankfully, their bridge pieces were wide as the space between the walls, and they were slowed to a painful, yet not too dangerous, crash at the bottom. Firiel, who had been on the top piece, bounced a bit and rolled right off onto the mountain floor. She groaned at the aching in her body, but found that she was relatively unscathed. Just sore and dirty.

"Well, that could have been worse," she heard Bofur say.

She sat up just in time to watch with Gandalf as the corpse of the goblin king crash down gracelessly onto the pile, crushing the dwarves even further beneath the wood. They groaned and hollered in pain.

"You've got to be joking!" Dwalin yelled from his place near the bottom.

Firiel pulled herself up and rushed forward to help as the dwarves pushed the wood off their bodies. She looked around in panic before she spotted Fili, beneath a pile of wood near the side of the rock wall. She helped him pry a giant plank off his torso, and was amazed to find that he didn't even seem winded. She felt like her whole body was just out of a heavy duty wash cycle, and he looked relatively fine. The dwarves, though dirty and groaning, appeared to all be in relatively the same shape. Firiel marvelled, wondering what these men were made of. Surely even stone (as the wives tales said they grew from) weren't so strong.

"Gandalf!" she heard Kili yell in a panic.

Firiel turned to look and saw the goblins coming down the cliffs after them in an army.

"Well I quit," she muttered.

The dwarves all pulled themselves and one another from the wreckage in haste.

"There's too many," Dwalin said as he helped Nori out of the debris, "We can't fight them!"

"Only one thing will save us," Gandalf cried, "Daylight! Come on! Here! On your feet!"

The wizard shepherded them all out of the wreckage and took off down the tunnels. If Gandalf knew another way out, it was best just to follow, which they all did with great haste. The wizard led them through a small maze of stone tunnels before they rounded a corner and saw the most delightful thing Firiel had seen in a while. There was light at the end of the tunnel. Gandalf stopped to make sure they all went by.

"Quick, quick!" the wizard ordered, herding them along.

Firiel's feet were surely bloody and bruised, but she didn't care. She nearly stumbled as her eyes were assaulted with the pure joy of daylight, adjusting as she headed off down the slopes behind Fili. They dared not stop for fear that the goblins were right behind them. Leaping down over the rocks and racing through the trees, they only stopped once they reached a small lake at the bottom of their slope.

"…Five, six, seven, eight, nine. Bifur, Bofur; that's ten. Fili, Kili, Firiel; that's thirteen," she heard Gandalf counting, "And Bombur, that makes fourteen."

Firiel looked around, panting, and noticed something was not right. Her uncle was missing. She turned to the wizard, her eyes wide and her chest heaving.

"Where's Bilbo?" she asked Gandalf, her voice growing in volume at every syllable, "Where's my uncle?!"

Gandalf looked about, equally panicked, and wandered into the centre of the group.

"Where is our hobbit?" he asked absently, looking around in confusion before shouting, "Where is our hobbit?!"

They all began to look around, and Firiel felt guilt and dread swelling up inside her like a sickening balloon nearly ready to burst. How could she not have noticed her uncle wasn't with them? Fili, now less overwhelmed, he embraced her and tried to comfort her as she began to tremble in fear and shock. She felt Kili rubbing her back as his brother held her tight. The others were clearly much more unnerved by the state she was in.

"Curse that halfling!" Dwalin swore in frustration, "Now he's lost?"

"I thought he was with Dori!" Gloin shouted.

"Don't blame me," Dori cried.

"Well, where did you last see him?" Gandalf asked him.

"I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us," Nori said.

"And what happened exactly? Tell me!" Gandalf demanded.

"I'll tell you what happened," Thorin spoke with more anger than usual, "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone."

That couldn't be it. Something had to have happened. He couldn't have left her there. Fili felt her shaking increase and his tunic growing wet as Firiel shook her head, smearing blood from her eyebrow wound across his chest. He looked at Kili over her head, not knowing what to do aside from what he was already doing.

"No. He isn't."

The company turned towards that voice, and there stood their hobbit. Bilbo was safe. He was alive. He was there. Firiel could barely contain herself as she pulled away from the brothers and rushed into him, nearly knocking poor Bilbo off his feet. Her uncle smiled at the action though, clamping his arms around her and rocking her a bit, shushing her gently.

"It's alright, Firiel," Bilbo whispered to her, "I'm here."

She pulled back to look at him. They smiled at one another, alive and giddy with relief. Everyone else was clearly just as excited.

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf gave a laugh, coming off up the hill towards them, "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life."

"Bilbo, we'd given you up," Kili grinned.

"How on Earth did you get past the goblins?" Fili asked him.

"How indeed," Dwalin muttered, standing near Thorin as the two of them looked equally unimpressed.

They all looked at Bilbo expectantly, waiting to hear. Bilbo looked about, then gave a nervous chuckle at their curious and impatient eyes. He put his hands in his waistcoat pockets, breathing in and out and shuffling a bit. Something changed in Gandalf's face, and the wizard quickly tried to move on.

"Well, what does it matter?" Gandalf asked them, "He's back."

Thorin was having none of that.

"It matters," the dwarf insisted, "I want to know. Why did you come back?"

Firiel saw from the look on Thorin's face that this was by no means and angry demand. The dwarf was genuinely shocked and curious, as if he were a bullied child who had had a stranger show him kindness for the first time. Bilbo looked at Thorin as though that were an obvious question, and a stark realization seemed to come to him. His eyes grew a little firmer as he turned towards the dwarf prince. They were no less warm though. In fact, a fondness seemed to have grown in them.

"Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have," Bilbo said frankly with a little shrug, "And you're right. I often think of Bag-End. I miss my books. And my armchair and my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back. Because…"

Bilbo paused, as if trying to find exactly the right words to use. He looked out at the company, and he seemed to find them instantly.

"You don't have one," Bilbo smiled at Thorin, "A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

They regarded one another for a moment more, and a mutual respect and understanding seemed to have been achieved. Firiel smiled, relieved to find that that tension was rather behind them. She patted her uncle's shoulder as the others stood there, moved nearly to tears by Bilbo's words. Gandalf smiled at Bilbo, pride shining forth in his blue eyes. Their moment of intimate comradery was shattered all too soon though.

The howls of wargs could be heard just up the hill. They looked to one another, and all seemed to remember that the goblin king had sent out that little messenger not too long ago.

Thorin muttered, "Out of the frying pan…"

"And into the fire," Gandalf groused, "Run. Run!"


	9. Chapter 9

At Gandalf's command, the company sped off down the hills once more, the howls of wargs nipping at their heels as night began to fall. Firiel kept close to Bilbo, her sword drawn as they ran. As they began to reach a cliff, the wargs were upon them.

The first one came after her and Bilbo. They stopped short as the others continued on, and Bilbo pushed Firiel behind him, his sword poised before them. Firiel knew instantly from how he held it that Bilbo had no idea what he was doing. They were backed up against a tree, and the warg charged them, jaws open for the kill. Bilbo's sword, just long enough, skewered the warg right through its great skull, nearly buried to the hilt. The beast's body reared away, and Bilbo dropped his sword, the creature falling to the ground dead. More wargs came after them, but the dwarves were quick to rush to their rescue.

Fili and Kili were on either side of her and Bilbo, but Firiel soon found the only person she could even see was Fili. He looked like a warrior god, swinging his twin swords expertly and panting slowly in the heat of battle. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his eyes were dark in a way she had never seen before. His sky-like eyes were clouded, focused, chaotic. It was like the God of Thunder himself lived within them, creating the perfect storm to accompany the primal grunts and battle cried he gave as his took on his enemies. When his warg was defeated, he turned those eyes on her, and she thought her insides were on fire. Oh god, what a gorgeous man he was. Not everyone would think so, but she did. He was so powerful, so strong. The darkness in his eyes changed somewhat was he watched her. Less clouded. More hungry.

"Into the trees!" she registered Gandalf yelling.

Fili's eyes softened and he reached for her hand. Firiel reached back and allowed him to pull her off towards the nearest tree. Kili was already up in the tree, and Fili scooped Firiel up, passing her upwards to Kili. She grabbed Kili's hand and pulled herself upwards, the combined force nearly sent her flying up over the branch. Fili jumped and grabbed the branch, swinging himself up as Kili and Firiel grabbed him to help. Once he was in the tree, Fili ordered them to climb higher. Firiel looked around for Bilbo and spotted him on the ground, staring paralyzed at a pack of wargs that ran towards him.

"Bilbo!" she shouted.

Her uncle started and took off towards their tree, leaping up and pulling himself onto the branches just in time a void the angry jaws of a lunging warg. He scrambled up the tree towards them, looking down with wide, panicked eyes. The wargs circled their tree, leaping up towards them with teeth and claws aimed for the kill. Firiel almost screamed as a warg ripped on the branch just beneath her. She scrambled upwards more, allowing Fili to pull her in closer to the centre of the tree.

Suddenly, from between the trees emerged an orc pack, and the wargs returned to their masters. At the head of the group was a rather interesting looking pair. A sparsely armoured orc, with pink scares trailing across his white skin, rode a white, partially blind warg. His lower left arm was missing, and in its place was a metal claw that ran through the orc's stump and protruded out the other side of his arm. The sight of it turned Firiel's joints to jelly. He sniffed dramatically in the air, and smiled a smile so ghastly it made her want to vomit. He said something in Black Speech, looking up at Thorin with malicious contempt. Was this Azog The Defiler? It had to be, for the look in Thorin's eyes was unmistakable. He looked as though he was seeing a ghost. A terrifying, deadly ghost. When the orc nearly whispered Thorin's name out into the night air, Firiel knew for certain. It could be no other.

"It cannot be," Thorin nearly sobbed.

The pale orc reared back then, and pointed his four-bladed club at Thorin, seemingly giving some sort of command as he raised it high above his head. At his command, the wargs were upon them once more, ripping at the branches below them. This time Firiel did scream, and she was not the only one. The dwarves were panicked, climbing higher and higher until there was almost no more tree to climb. The orcs laughed as their pet ripped branch after branch from the tree, launching themselves higher and higher with every leap. Firiel gripped tight to the tree and she felt it swaying from the sheer chaotic impact of the wargs.

"Fili!" she shrieked as he was knocked from his feet, the branches of their tree barely catching him.

There wasn't much time to worry though. The old pine tree, giving out against the beating the wargs were giving it, began to fall towards the cliff and into another tree. Their tree was soon falling fast, and as another branch passed before her, Firiel did the only thing she could think to do. She looked back to Bilbo and the brothers briefly, catching their eyes and then faced forwards again.

"Jump!" she cried, taking off towards the branch.

She managed to land on her feet and looked behind to see if the others had followed her. Though her relief was short lived, for now their new tree, Dwalin and Balin's tree, began to timber down with the impact. They were all forced to jump from tree to tree as the domino effect continued, trees falling and the shouts and cries of the dwarves and hobbits combined. By sheer luck, the final tree on that whole cliff side, whose roots ran deep from many years of hanging onto these mountains by a thread, held their weight and remained still. She, Bilbo, and Fili were just below Gandalf, who had wisely chosen this tree for his safe haven. Their tree would not last much longer though, for the wargs began to pound on it. They had to do something. Suddenly, a fireball seemed to shoot out from their tree, lighting the dry glass like nothing. The wargs were frightened of it, backing away from it and howling in frustration.

"Fili," she heard Gandalf cry.

A burning pine cone was soon dropped into Fili's hands as Gandalf threw another. Firiel got the idea and grabbed two. She and Bilbo allowed Fili to light theirs, and she marvelled at how well Fili handled the flames. He simply juggled it a little, blowing on his hands occasionally when it got too hot. As soon as hers were lit, the flames licked her skin painfully and she squeak, immediately throwing one and dropping the other down to Kili, who caught it and continued their pattern with the others. Gandalf continued to light more pine cones and toss them down to the dwarves, and soon everyone was throwing their pine cones. It was working. They were managing to drive the wargs back. Firiel ignored the stinging of her burning flesh and cried out in exhilaration.

Azog roared in frustration, and the dwarves cheered, thinking they had won. The excitement was short lived though, for that mighty old pine which was their battle front finally gave up underneath all that excitement, and its upper roots began to pull up from the ground. Firiel and the company screamed as the tree toppled off the cliff, just barely being caught by the deepest of those old roots. There they were, suspended over a thousand foot drop, hanging onto the branches for dear life. Firiel had thankfully landed cradled on a branch next to Fili and above Bilbo. She looked around and found that Kili had a relatively stable grip on another series of branches just next to them. Ori lost his grip and fell, only being saved by grabbing hold of Dori's foot. Dori could not hold them both though, and cried out for Gandalf, who reached out with his staff and Dori gripped that instead.

Thorin, who had landed on the actual trunk of the tree, gazed back at Azog, who seemed much more pleased with the situation than he had been previously. The two stared at one another, the tension rising to the point where it could almost choke you. Thorin pulled himself up, gripping his Goblin-cleaver and the oaken shield for which he was named, and started towards the pale orc. They were going to do battle, right here on this burning field.

Thorin looked like a war god from the legends and fairy tales of yore as he strode towards the pale orc, ready to face his mortal enemy in a final show of combat. Azog looked exhilarated by the very thought. Thorin took off on a run towards Azog, through the burning bushes as though they were his steed, every inch the warrior prince Balin had described to her. He raised his shield and sword, giving out a battle cry so mighty she felt her own blood rush at the sound of it. Azog roared and his warg lunged. Thorin tried to strike them, but was knocked on his back, the wind leaving his body. Thorin pulled himself to his feet though, turning to face Azog once more. The pale orc clearly had the advantage though, and his warg lunged forwards as swung his club across Thorin's face, knocking the prince to the ground once again.

"No!" Balin cried out at the sight of it.

Firiel could not believe what she was seeing, and didn't even register herself screaming for Thorin to get up. This time Thorin did not have the opportunity, for the warg soon had him in its mighty jaws, crushing the dwarven prince like a chew toy.

"Thorin!" she shrieked

She soon found herself on her feet, standing on the branch and watching it occur. Bilbo was up on the tree as well, having climbed up just before her. Thorin screamed as the beast's teeth pierced into him, cracking and crunching in a way that made her bones shudder.

"Thorin! No!"

Dwalin tried to pull himself up with them, but his branch gave way and he barely grabbed the tree in time to save himself. Azog and the warg turned towards them, the orc smiling devilishly as Thorin's blood began to drip from the warg's fangs. In Azog's glorious distraction though, Thorin swung his sword up and knocked the warg on the snout. The beast was startled, and threw Thorin away. The dwarf prince landed on a series of rocks just a few feet away, his sword clattering from his hands. Thorin fell like a rock, his eyes gazing up at nothing. Azog looked at him, thoroughly bored it seemed, and tossed an order to the orc who was now beside him. The foul creature dismounted, starting off towards Thorin. Firiel didn't know how or when she had started, but she soon found that she had taken off on a sprint, her blade drawn and poised before her. Bilbo was with her, and they each knew what they had to do.

As the executioner raised his blade to remove Thorin's head, Bilbo tackled the orc to the ground. The beast rolled over on top of Bilbo, but Firiel was on it, piercing it through its back as Bilbo crawled away. Firiel drove her sword and the orc into the dirt, and Biblo jumped up, placing himself between Thorin and Azog. She ripped her blade from the dead orc's back and stood slowly, moving to her uncle's side. She glared up at the pale orc, and pointed her sword at him as she stood tall. Her eyes conveyed an unyieldingness that the pale orc found despicable. It was almost kingly.

"You will not have him," she shouted, her voice firm and deadly.

She didn't even know if Azog knew what she had said, but the pale orc clearly understood. And the look on his face brought her a sick delight she had never felt before. The orc looked angry. Thwarted. Until he sneered down at her and Bilbo, he and three of his riders advancing on the two hobbits at a predatory pace. Azog gave the other three riders an order, and they advanced further towards Firiel and Bilbo. Bilbo swung his sword in front of him wildly, which made the orcs laugh as they stalked closer. However, their slow pace gave Fili and Kili just enough time to storm in to the hobbits' rescue. The brothers charged in, swinging their swords ferociously at the orc riders and driving them off to the side. The others who had climbed up were behind them, and Firiel actually smiled at that. They had come to fight. The third rider took off towards her and Bilbo. Bilbo gave a mighty shout and took off towards the rider, slashing the warg across the eyes and forcing it away. Firiel was impressed, and charged on the rider as he knocked Biblo back into Azog's warg. Firiel leapt up the other side of the warg, and drove her sword through the rider's belly, slashing back and pulling the orc right off. She soon noticed Azog making a slow advance on Bilbo, who had been thrown to the ground near Thorin, and turned back, rushing between them. She would not allow anyone to die today. Azog laughed this time, clearly not intimidated by the little woman who stood before him. He and the remaining riders started to close in as the dwarves were preoccupied with the unmounted wargs.

Suddenly, she heard a great shrieking sound pierce through the air. She looked about, and saw great birds flying towards the cliff. The legendary giant eagles, which were so great in size that they dwarfed even the largest of horses. One flew right over her head and grabbed up a warg in its talons, throwing it off the cliffs. Azog and the other orcs looked rightfully alarmed by their presence. They knocked over trees onto the orcs and wargs, and threw them off the cliffs. The eagles used their great wings to blow the fires onto the orcs. The eagles had come to help them. Firiel looked about and spotted Fili, grinning at his face. He looked utterly shocked, and she couldn't blame him, but they were actually finally going to live.

Soon, an eagle swooped in and gently scooped up Thorin in its talons, taking his sword with them. As he rose into the air, Thorin's oaken shield clattered to the ground. The dwarves watched him being carried off, all looking more alarmed than Firiel was. They meant Thorin no harm. Azog roared in humiliation as the eagle sailed away with Thorin, and reared back as one came towards him. It wasn't Azog that the eagle was going for and, before Firiel knew it, she and her uncle had been scooped up in the eagle's great talons and dropped off the cliff side. The two hobbits screamed until the landed atop another eagle that had appeared to catch them. Firiel could not believe it. She was riding a giant eagle. The bird screeched and took off towards the rest of the mountains. She looked back and saw that her companions were being evacuated in relatively the same way. Soon, they were all atop the backs of great eagles. As they headed off towards the moon, she could hear the roaring of Azog the Defiler, and knew they had not seen the last of him.

* * *

They flew on through the night and into the morning, and Thorin had not even stirred. He looked as though he was nearly dead, and Firiel found that she did not want to look. But she couldn't look away.

"THORIN!" she heard Fili's voice scream out over the wind.

Even at the cry of his heir, the dwarf prince remained still. Firiel looked over at the brothers, and felt her heart breaking. Kili looked terrified and grieved, but Fili looked nearly inconsolable. His face made her own heart feel the fear and horrified sadness he was feeling. Thorin couldn't die. He couldn't. He had been like a father to them since they were small. Firiel looked back at Thorin, and actually found she was tearing up.

"Please," she whispered to herself and whatever there was out there that could be listening, "Please let him be alright."

As much as she found him to be an egotistical prick sometimes, Firiel couldn't deny that she had come to love him like all the others. He loved his men and would do anything for them, and, even though he had given them trouble, that had not stopped him from coming to her and Bilbo's defense. He had saved both of their lives; Bilbo's on the cliffs and hers in Goblin Town. He could pretend all he wanted to that he did not care, because she knew that wasn't true. He was brave, and true, and a leader she was proud to follow. She knew why Balin nearly worshipped him. She too found that she could easily call him king. When she had told Azog that he could not have Thorin, she had meant it.

Thorin could not die.

They soon flew beyond the mountains and over a lush green valley. A large rock sat in the middle, with a flat top. It was the perfect landing spot. The eagles began to circle the rock, and the one carrying Thorin gently laid him down. Gandalf was the first to disembark his eagle, and took off towards Thorin with great hurry, calling out to him. Bilbo and Firiel were next, and rushed forward as Gandalf called to Thorin gently. They watched as Gandalf placed his hand over Thorin's forehead, running it over his face as he muttered something incoherent to them. By the time the wizard's hand reached his chin, Thorin's eyes fluttered open, and Firiel let go of a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"The halflings?" she heard Thorin nearly exhale.

"It's alright," Gandalf told him as the dwarves all gathered around them, "Firiel and Bilbo are here. They're quite safe."

Thorin tried to pull himself up, and Dwalin and Kili reached down to help him. Once he was on his feet, Thorin stubbornly shook them off and glared down the two hobbits. Firiel was kind of surprised, but by no means shocked.

"You two!" he said, "What were you doing? You nearly got yourselves killed!"

What a strange question. They had been saving his life. Bilbo looked equally hurt by the question. Thorin then turned solely on Bilbo, stalking towards him.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wilds? That you had no place among us?" Thorin growled out.

A pause took hold, and Bilbo looked as though he might cry. Thorin still hated him, even after everything he had done. But what came next surprised everyone.

"I have never been so wrong in all my life."

Thorin embraced Bilbo, holding her uncle so tightly she thought he would crush him. Bilbo was shocked by the action at first, but soon embraced Thorin back. The dwarves all cheered and laughed, clapping one another on the backs. Firiel smiled at the scene. This had just become her favourite thing about Thorin. He could truly admit when he was wrong. As he pulled back from Bilbo, he looked him in the eyes.

"I am sorry I doubted you," he said.

"No, I would have doubted me too," Bilbo told him, "I'm not a hero, or a warrior. Not even a burglar."

At that they all grinned, and Thorin then turned his gaze on Firiel. His eyes were the warmest she had ever seen them, and the smile he gave her was genuine. She returned it and allowed him to come to her as well. He took both her hands in his and looked down at them briefly, as though noting how small they were compared to his own.

"It would seem I owe you a great apology as well," he told her, "I thought that by bringing you here, I was simply creating a burden for myself and these men. And I told you as much every opportunity I was given.

"But I was wrong, and for that I am sorry," he looked up at her then, his eyes shining with a new sort of respect, "Can you find it within your heart to forgive a foolish old man?"

Firiel smiled at that, inhaling and exhaling through her nose as she regarded the king. He seemed sincere, and, as she searched her heart, she found that there was nothing to actually forgive. He was only mortal, and, for all his transgressions, he had already been pardoned.

"Well, I had already forgiven you for all that," she said with a little shrug, "So there is in fact nothing left to forgive."

The company gave a great cheer as the two smiled at one another, and Thorin embraced her as well. Firiel hugged him back, and found her fondness of Thorin grew that day. THorin could definitely say the same about the she-hobbit. Firiel looked at Fili from over his uncle's shoulder and saw him smiling at her, his eyes warm and welcoming. She returned his smile and, when Thorin parted from her to be greeted and embraced by the others, she rushed into Fili's waiting and open arms. He pulled her in tight, swinging from side to side as he buried his nose in her fine hair. The scent of the elves' perfumes was almost completely faded, and a smell that was entirely her own was taking their place. He liked this one much better. She in turn found his scent, which the elves had said to be overwhelming, entirely too comforting, and every muscle in her back completely relaxed as she inhaled him deeply. She snuggled her face against his chest.

"We're alive," she breathed, "We're all alive."

"I know, it's a miracle," she felt Fili's entire chest rumbling with his laughter, "You were brilliant, by the way."

Firiel looked up at him then, and felt a warmth growing in her heart as his looked back at her.

"Thank you," she smiled, "You were too."

The eagles gave a squawk, and everyone suddenly remembered that they were there. The great birds flew off, probably heading back to their home, wherever that was. Firiel looked out and saw that Thorin was staring off into the distance. She followed his gaze, and saw a sight she would never forget. There in the mists, far from the that actual Misty Mountains, stood a single, solitary peak. It sat against the landscape like the peak of a great crown.

"Is that what I think it is?" Bilbo asked.

He, Thorin, and Gandalf headed towards the far side of the rock, and she and the others followed behind. From where they stood now, she could see it clearly.

"Erebor," Gandalf said, "The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth."

"Our home," Thorin graveled out, his voice so thick with emotion Firiel thought he might cry.

Firiel heard the light chirping of a songbird and looked up. It was a little thrush. She had seen sketches of them in her bird book.

"A raven!" Oin cried, "The birds are returning to the mountain!"

The dwarves watched it go off towards the mountain with great wonder, but the misidentification scratched at Firiel's brain.

"Actually, Oin, that's a thrush," she corrected him.

Gandalf and the others gave a little chuckle at that.

"But we'll take it as a sign," Thorin said then, smiling down at Bilbo, "A good omen."

"You're right," Bilbo nodded, "I do believe the worst is behind us."

Firiel smiled a bit at that notion, and she felt the back of Fili's hand brush against her own. She brushed back and, as if by the force of a great magnet, their hands were soon entwined. She looked up at her prince, and their eyes did all the talking. The sea met the sky, and it was like day was breaking over the horizon. She wanted to tell herself that it was just the rush of adventure she was feeling in her bones, but that was not it. She had honestly never felt so complete in all her life as she did in that moment with him. But a sudden thought quickly pulled her from her happy reprieve.

"Does anyone know how we're supposed to get down from here?"

* * *

**AN: **And so ends PART ONE of this fanfiction. I hope you have all enjoyed so far. I will be putting these out a lot slower from now on, unfortunately, as I am a stickler for details when it comes to canon events and plot lines that I like, so I will be going off little clips I can find online and what I can pull from going to see Desolation of Smaug again with my buddies. I probably won't have the same output speed until I get it on DVD, which is going to take a while. Please don't get frustrated with me and give up on reading. I've already got scenes written out for even the third movie, so you don't have to worry about me not continuing. I am a woman possessed. lol All my love, and a special thank you to **Ellie's imagination world**, **sarah0406**, **Immy2111**, **Creative Critic**, **Rue Dawn**, **xelacey**, **Marine76**, **Kilataia**, **Akiluna**, **FlyingHampsterOfDoom**, **OfSoundMind**, and **my mystery reviewer** for your super kind words and support. You guys are the kind of readers who make this really fulfilling for me. Thank you to all my follows and favourites for actually following the story. Don't worry about having the actually dig around my profile for the rest of the fic; everything will still be posted here, and the fic will not be completed until I get to the very end of the third movie, and even then I probably won't end it there. You guys will at the very least get a lengthy epilogue. Love you all, and I'll see you sooner than you think! ;)


	10. Chapter 10

They had been travelling for almost a week since their rescue by the eagles. It turns out that they had not reached the end of those wild mountains nearly as soon as Firiel had hoped, and she had finally been told why they were in such a hurry. In order to enter the mountain, they had to make it there by the last day of autumn. Durin's Day; the dwarves' New Year. And every inch of the way they had been stalked by Azog the Defiler and his men, living in constant stress and fear, unable to sleep for fear of death in the night. Firiel did not know which would kill her first sometimes: the stress, the cold, the hunger, or the orcs. After their narrow escape, Firiel had found that she and Gandalf the only one among them who still had their all their belongings, the rest of the company's packs all trapped beneath the mountains of Goblin Town. Since they were being hunted, no one could light a fire for fear of being spotted. Some nights they pressed on, never stopping to rest. The orcs rode wargs, and they could not afford to slow down. The mountains were bare of food as well, and only a few roots and birds' eggs could be found to eat. It was horrific. Firiel was grateful she had some biscuits from their stay with the elves, as stale as they were.

She and Bilbo, the smallest and fastest in the company, were now trusted enough to take on duties such as night watch, scouting, and look-out. Bilbo, who was older and far more used to his naps, made the better scout with his surprisingly sharp and more experienced eyes. However, Firiel could remain alert into the wee hours of the morning, and she was often roused to take up watch between Dwalin and Fili's shifts. She quickly made note of the schedule, and found she was one of only six in their company of fifteen that Thorin still trusted to keep watch. The king didn't even trust himself at it really. When she had asked him about it, Thorin told her his eyes were not what they had once been, and the blows of battle had taken their toll on his vision.

At the same time as all of this stress, Firiel found her relationship with Fili changing, and her feelings for him growing even stronger. He would pick her up unexpectedly to carry her over puddles and bits of rocky terrain that would have cut her feet. If she would start to rub her lower back, he would immediately pull her pack from her shoulders and wrestle it gently from her grip. He slept next to her at night, his back against hers, and sometimes woke in the night when she was up to take watch with her. She even woke up a couple times with his fur vest draped over her body, and Fili already sat up for his watch duty. Firiel wondered what she had done to deserve such special treatment, but Kili had just told her to relax and not worry too much about it. Fili's doting made him happy, Kili told her. Happy that he could take care of her. And she could see it in the way he would grin when she allowed him to care for her. When she would finally allow him to take her pack and give up on asking him to put her down in rocky areas, he always gave her the most dazzling smile. It was at its brightest with her every "thank you". And those were many. It made her smile too, and she couldn't help but feel wonderfully loved.

One night when they dared to stop, Firiel was curled up under the slope of a rock, Fili sat up beside her as he stubbornly took watch with her. She noticed that he was picking at his hands, scratching them and rubbing them against his pants. She'd seen him do that a few times over their stressful trek, but until now she had thought it was a nervous tick. But that wasn't it. He looked like he was in pain.

"What's going on with your hands?" she asked him.

Fili stopped his fidgeting immediately, trying to pretend nothing was wrong.

"What do you mean?" he asked her, looking out over the slopes.

Firiel rolled her eyes at him. He could care for her all he wanted, but the second she tried to look after him he was fine? Not happening. She got up on her knees and reached for his hands to look. He pulled away from her though, crossing his arms and hiding them. In spite of how tired and irritable she was, Firiel actually laughed. She smiled at Fili, who seemed to relax at her amusement.

"Let me see. Please?" she murmured softly.

Her little please was all it took. Fili begrudgingly uncrossed his arms, frowning as Firiel took his hands. When she looked at them beneath the almost-full moon, she could see why they had been troubling him. His hands were burned and scabbed, probably from Gandalf's pine cones. The skin had bubbled up on his left palm, and she saw he had been picking it off and making it bleed. It looked so painful. He had been carrying her around with hands like these for three days. How could he not tell her? Firiel felt tears coming to her eyes, and growled at his hands.

"You stubborn bastard," she cursed him, letting go and turning to dig around in her pack, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Fili was a shocked by the sudden change in her. Why was she so angry at him? Firiel produced her waterskin and a set of bandages she had brought with her.

"They're not that bad," he insisted, trying to pull back.

"No, they are," Firiel snapped quietly, grabbing his hand and pulling the cork from her waterskin with her teeth, "You should have told me, instead of trying to be some big tough guy. You're allowed to be in pain, you know!"

Fili was about to snap back, until he saw the look on her face. Firiel looked like she might cry. There were tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"You should ask me for help once in a while, instead of always trying to go it alone," she muttered shakily.

He'd seen that look before, when he was young. He had broken his left lower leg in a rock-slide as a child, and his mother had yelled at him for half an hour about how reckless he had been. Then she'd cried. He knew then that she was not angry to simply be angry. She was just angry out of love.

So, instead of getting defensive, he took a deep breath and simply let Firiel mutter angrily under her breath. He had to admit, she looked pretty cute when she was mad. She poured some of her water over his hand, which stung his open blister greatly. He grit his teeth, and Firiel whispered little apologies as she wrapped one of the bandages around his palm. He watched her work, far more enthralled with her than he should have been, given the fact that they were on watch duty. Her little fingers were so gentle, delicately wrapping the bandage around his palm, and her eyes were focused. When she was finished, she tied the end neatly.

"There," she said, finally calm, "Now don't touch it. It'll heal faster if you leave it."

As she turned back to put her things away, Fili flexed his hand. She had done a good job. Firiel sighed, and he watched her simply flop back against their rock with her arms crossed. He looked between her and his hand, unsure of how to proceed. Though gratitude seemed like a good place to start.

"Thank you," he whispered, sitting closer to her than he had been before, their bodies aligned and touching, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to worry."

"I'm sorry for getting so angry," Firiel murmured, looking up at him, "It's really that I care about you. I got upset when I saw you were in pain, and that wasn't a good way to handle it."

"Don't worry," he said as he looked into her eyes, taking her hand in his freshly bandaged one, "I understand."

This was something else that had become regular for them. Holding hands. And eye contact. Lots of both. Firiel smiled at him, now content that he was at least properly bandaged.

"Now you should go to sleep," Fili told her, looking up into the night sky, "I think it's my turn for watch duty."

"You just spent the whole time on duty with me," Firiel argued, "We should both stay up."

But Fili wouldn't have it.

"Go to sleep," he urged her gently, his eyes pleading with her, "I'll be fine. Please?"

As it had been when she had asked him, Firiel was left powerless in the face of Fili's "please". She sighed heavily and finally nodded her head. Fili, satisfied, leaned back against the boulder, and was surprised when Firiel didn't quite get up. Instead, she got on her knees and leaned forwards, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. His jaw dropped, and he immediately looked up at her face when she pulled back. She was blushing, as if she had only just realized what she had done.

"Well, goodnight," she muttered quickly, dashing off before Fili had the time to react.

He watched her go, and, as she curled up by her uncle, Fili couldn't help the stupid grin that plastered itself across his face. She had kissed him. Gotten angry with him, bandaged him, and then kissed him. In spite of their situation, that grin was about to split his face open. What a woman. Though the howling of wargs in the night alarmed him, and he and Firiel both shot to their feet. That howling was far too close for comfort. They shared a panicked glance, then ran about, quickly rousing the others. Thorin was not pleased, until he heard the howls. They all looked to him.

"Everyone move," he commanded.

* * *

When they finally reached the woods below the Mist Mountains, dawn was just rising up in the sky. Bilbo had been sent up the slopes to check behind them for the pale orc and his merry band, and Firiel stuck close to the others, scaling silently along the mountain passes. Bilbo ran down from the slope towards them, and he did not look like he had good news.

"How close is the pack?" Thorin asked him.

"Too close," was Bilbo's reply as he jogged down into their circle, "Couple of leagues; no more. But that's not the worst of it."

"The wargs picked up our scent?" Dwalin asked.

"Not yet, but they will," Bilbo panted, "We have another problem."

"Oh gods, what now?" Firiel muttered.

"Did they see you?" Gandalf demanded in panicked, "They saw you."

"No, that's not it," Bilbo assured him.

"Ah, what did I tell you?" Gandalf smiled at the others, "Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar."

The dwarves all chorused their relief, turning to one another to chat happily, but Firiel could see that Bilbo thought they had nothing to celebrate. Bilbo tried to get their attention again, but he still seemed to be having some difficulty. She shushed the others loudly and quickly.

"Will you all just listen?" she asked them, her irritation clear, "He obviously isn't finished."

"Thank you, darling," Bilbo nodded briefly before turning to point back up the hill, "I'm trying to tell you all that there is something else out there."

The company all looked amongst one another, worry on their features. Firiel looked up at Fili, and they shared a look of exhausted panic. Just what they needed. Something else trying to get them. Gandalf stared down at Bilbo, his eyes serious and darkly knowing.

"What form did it take?" the wizard asked Bilbo, "Like a bear?"

"Yes, exactly," Bilbo exclaimed, the paused for a moment to look strangely at Gandalf, "Yes, yes, but bigger, much bigger."

The wizard did not seem nearly so shocked as the rest of them.

"You knew about this beast?" Bofur nearly cried.

Gandalf simply turned from them, uninclined to answer. They all looked to one another, in desperate need of a new plan.

"I say we double back," Dori offered.

"And be overrun by Azog and his merry band of flesh-eaters?" Firiel nearly gaffed at him, "Anyone else?"

"There is a house," Gandalf said suddenly, turning back to them, "It's not far from here – where we might take refuge."

"Whose house?" Thorin asked, clearly and rightfully fed up with the way Gandalf pulled them around like little pawns, "Are they friend or foe?"

Gandalf took a small pause, as though carefully considering his choice of words.

"Neither," was his solemn reply, "He will help us, or he will kill us."

Well, that was comforting. But it was either that or certain death. The company began to mutter amongst themselves, weighing their options. Firiel rolled her eyes at the way they still pretended this mission was a democracy. Clearly it was Gandalf and Thorin running this show.

"What choice do we have?" Thorin nearly sighed.

At that question, a mighty roar came from not very far behind them. Firiel looked back up the hill in a panic. That was most definitely a bear. And not a friendly one.

"None," Gandalf said simply.

And so off they ran, through a short stretch of wood, and soon they came upon fresh, green meadows that were almost bare of trees and covered in beautiful wild flowers. Were they not running for their lives, Firiel might have stopped to sketch some. But they ran madly through the field.

"Come on!" Gandalf shouted from the front, "Hurry!"

Easy for him to say; each of them maybe was only the height of one of Gandalf's legs! They soon reached the woods again, and ran through the trees, leaping over rocks and roots. Firiel stumbled on one, but Fili, as he had in the fields outside Rivendell, grabbed her hand and pulled her along. It was second nature to him now. The two of them were next to each other in an instant, running hand in hand. They could hear the snarls of wargs, and soon a mighty roar rang through the woods. They all stopped, frozen in fear. The beast was hot on their trail.

"This way! Quickly!" Gandalf cried, taking off again deeper into the woods.

Everyone gave a shout of fear and took off after Gandalf, not daring to look back. They followed the wizard down the slopes and through the wood, leaping here and there and just barely managing to stay on their feet. They continued to run through the woods, and soon they came upon another meadow. At the other side of this one though, there was a little house tucked under to trees.

"To the house!" Gandalf called, as if they needed to be told, "Run!"

As they rushed through the field, Firiel soon saw Bombur booking it straight past her and Fili. Damn, he could run when he wanted to. The house was surrounded by a wall, and the gate was wide open. Gandalf stopped at the entryway and waited for them all to pass. As she and Fili came through the gate, Kili right behind them, Firiel heard the beast that was chasing them give a mighty roar. They ran inside quickly, and ran straight into the closed doors of the house. The brothers began to beat on them mercilessly, shouting as they tried to break them open. She didn't know how thick these doors were, but they had to be pretty thick since Fili and Kili were barely moving them. She soon joined them though, throwing her weight against a door and pushing on it. She looked back out to the gate and saw a sight she would never forget. A great black bear burst forth from the trees, and what a monster it was. It had to be three times of size of any bear she had ever seen, at least. Gandalf and Bilbo were the last through the gate, and the bear was crossing the field with great leaping strides.

"Open the door!" Gandalf yelled.

"Quickly!" Thorin shouted, coming to assist her and the brothers.

These stupid doors were not opening, and the bear was nearly upon them. Firiel looked around and suddenly saw a latch on the two doors. Duh! She leapt up to push it upwards, opening it fully, and the cottage's double doors swung open, everyone pouring in. As soon as Gandalf was in, she, Fili, and Dwalin were on one door, and Thorin and Kili were one the other, slamming them closed. The great bear managed to stick its snout in the doorway, and was trying to force it open, roaring and snapping its jaws. The others were soon back to help them though, pushing on the doors and swatting at the bear's face, making as much noise as possible to try and scare it off. The bear was not long retreating, and the wooden plank which locked the door quickly dropped.

Everyone breathed a great sigh of relief, slapping their hands against the door on leaning back on it. Firiel sunk down to the floor on her bottom, panting and smiling to herself. She had never felt more alive. What an adrenaline junky she was turning out to be; she could never return to the Shire after this. She opened her eyes and saw Fii standing above her, panting equally hard and resting his head on his arm. They grinned at one another with open mouths, and he couldn't help but stare as Firiel lolled her head back against the wooden door, pulling her shawl from around her neck and revealing her throat, collar bone, and sternum. He could see her tight skin and the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell rapidly. He ran his tongue along the tips of his teeth, which felt like the sharp fangs of a wolf just itching to take a bite of its mate. Firiel was just as engrossed in his body, watching with half-glazed eyes as his mighty chest expanded with every deep breath, and the way his huge arms seemed to flex beneath his tunic with every natural little motion he made. She had a brief vision of how they might look on either side of her head, bracing her shoulders against them as took her roughly from above, and her womanhood pulsed pleasurably at the thought as a rush ran through her belly. Their eyes met, and that hungry darkness she had seen in the mountains had returned to his breathtaking orbs. He was consuming. He could take her right here and now for all she cared.

_Wait, what?_

Firiel shook her head, frowning and blinking rapidly to try and calm herself. When had she even started lusting after Fili like this? When had she ever lusted after anyone? These near death experiences seemed to be doing quite a number on her. Or was it simply that they were awakening a part of herself that she had never known before? She looked straight ahead, and found herself faced with a sight that really didn't help their situation. He was hard. Firiel felt a thrill go through her at the sight. Petunia had definitely not been exaggerating when she had shown Firiel how "big" he was. Fili seemed to notice it only then, and his whole face went red as he looked off to the corner of the room, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. Firiel laughed a little at his bashfulness.

Firiel was by no means a child or a virgin, and the sight of it wasn't shocking or terrifying. She had only had one lover in her life. An immature romance with a farmer's boy. She had thought herself in love at the time, and given him her body. It was easier than giving him her heart, she had noted much later. But she was quick to find out that that was really all he had wanted from her. He had used her. Only her sister knew, and Maude had elected to keep that information kindly to herself. She had never told anyone. Their romance had been very short lived and very physical. Though he had been a liar, Firiel never regretted it. It had taught her quite a lot about herself. About her inner strength. Without it, she knew she never would have thought herself capable of defying her family.

She looked back up at Fili, and smiled at how shy he was being. It was the cutest thing; he couldn't even look at her, and his whole face was red as a cherry tomato. It was a shyness he hadn't displayed with Petunia and Marigold.

"Oh gods, I'm sorry," he murmured, finally daring to look down at her, "I don't know what's come over me. Are you alright?"

Firiel couldn't contain the stupid grin and bubbling laughter that burst forth. If there was one thing she became very certain of then, it was this: he didn't seem the kind of man to use anybody. She looked up at him again, her eyes dancing and laughing while his were worried and preparing their shields.

"It's alright," she giggled a little as she whispered to him, "I'm flattered, really."

If it was possible, the dwarf prince went even redder, coughing standing up straight from the door. He had not expected that from her at all. Firiel chuckled at him and flicked her eyes between his face and his member, grinning like a fox and biting her lip. Fili felt his manhood nearly weeping at the sight of her delighted expression, and simply crossed his arms over his chest, his hand over his face as if it would hide the blush.

"What is that?" she heard Ori asked.

They both snapped back to attention, suddenly aware that they were not alone. The situation, which should have been awkward to begin with (instead of extremely arousing), instantly turned to nearly unbearable for the both of them. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed their little exchange.

"That is our host," Gandalf replied after a moment, amused as anything.

At that, the dwarves all turned to stare at Gandalf. That thing was their host? It lived in this cottage? How could a bear live in a house? Wouldn't it wreck the furniture? Firiel was confused, and climbed up to her feet. Fili was so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Her ears went red. Gandalf caught sight of their red faces and could barely contain the laughter he felt building up as he turned his head from the company for a moment. His plans were all working out perfectly, it seemed.

"His name is Beorn," the wizard told them once he had composed himself, "And he's a skin changer."

Firiel had read about skin changers. Her books said they were a race older than even the elves themselves. Gandalf walked off from them and into what appeared to be a small barn within the house. There were two cattle, some chickens, and a couple of goats.

"Sometimes he is a huge black bear," Gandalf continued, "Others he is a great, strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with."

Firiel immediately felt safer, and began to look around the house. A great strong man this Beorn must have been indeed, for his house was huge. She and Fili exchanged glances before following Dwalin and Bifur up huge stairs into the more house-like part of the cottage. The table stood well above her head, and the chairs came up to her eyes. What a place this was. Everything seemed magnified. However, Gandalf looked right at home in the space, for it was clearly the right size for him. Firiel wondered if this is what all houses of men looked like. It had a large wooden table and chairs at its centre, and a great stone hearth and stove. She wondered if Beorn had built the place all by himself, for it was truly quite beautiful.

"However," she heard Gandalf say, "He is not over-fond of dwarves."

The company looked about, and an indignant growl could be heard from the other side of the cottage's double doors.

"He's leaving," Ori said.

Dori grabbed his baby brother and pulled him back.

"Come away from there!" he whisper-shouted, "It's not natural. None of it! It's obvious; he's under some dark spell!"

Gandalf glared down at Dori.

"Don't be a fool," he spat, "He's under no enchantment but his own.

"Now," the wizard pulled off his hat and lumbered away into some corner, "Get some sleep, all of you. You'll be safe here tonight."

The dwarves all looked around the house, clearly unnerved by the idea. But soon, everyone was settled in to a little spot of hay. Firiel elected to sleep near the wooden stairs, piling up some clean hay for her bed. She didn't feel comfortable sleeping next to the animals, but her worry quickly passed as Fili and Kili set down their loads next to her haystack. They piled up some straw in a similar fashion, and they all lay there in silence as the last light of day faded from their resting place. Hopefully, this Beorn hated orcs more than dwarves.

* * *

In the dead of night, Firiel found herself awoken by the sound of a goat bleating in her ear almost. She started awake, sitting up abruptly and glaring at the animal as it trotted away. Fili, who had been a light sleeper to begin with, sat up no more than a moment later, holding one of his swords. He had felt Firiel jump and instinctually rushed to protect her. He looked about and relaxed once he saw there was no danger. He looked at Firiel, who had wrapped her arms around herself as she brought her knees in close to her chest. She turned and gave him an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "Did I wake you?"

"You did, but it's alright," Fili said, "I wasn't really asleep to begin with,"

"Yeah, me neither," Firiel murmured softly, staring out into the barn, "It's almost like I can't really sleep anymore."

Fili followed her gaze and looked out at the others, who were all out like lights. He saw Thorin sat up against a wall, and watched as a barn cat was curling up nearly Bilbo. He turned his eyes back to Firiel and watched her, wondering what it was she was thinking. A small worry crossed his mind.

"This isn't about what happened earlier, is it?" he asked her.

Firiel almost laughed, though she held it in and let her eyes and expression do it for her. They couldn't wake the others.

"It might be," she whispered teasingly, nudging him gently with her body, "I've been left in such abject anticipation that I can't get a wink of sleep."

Fili snorted, tossing his sword down and nudging her back. They soon began poking and pushing each other, little giggles and chuckles escaping from them and into the darkness. The poking and pushing soon became playful wrestling, and they tumbled around in the hay, just barely avoiding Kili in the process. Fili, being the bigger and stronger of the two, soon had her pinned to the hay beneath him. They breathed out laughter, Fili holding her wrists beside her head straddling her hips to prevent her escape. Try as she might, Firiel couldn't knock him off, though an upward thrust of the hips almost did it a few times. But soon she grew tired and lay there panting, staring up at him opened mouthed. He gazed down at her, relishing in the way her eyes smiled when he gave her a little victory grin. He leaned down and put his mouth against her ear.

"Got you," he whispered, his hot breath against her skin sending sharp fire through her.

When he pulled back from her ear, he looked into her eyes, smiling at her. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the way he was looking at her (Firiel would never know), but she couldn't help what happened next.

She pushed herself upwards, and their lips met.

Fili was shocked, but thoroughly pleased by the action. She pulled back, and they stared at one another for a moment. Firiel's face was bright red, and she opened her mouth to apologize, but Fili placing his forehead against her own stopped her in her tracks. She just stared at him, and he stared back. He nudged her with his nose a little and grinned at her before capturing her lower lip between his. It was Firiel's turn to be surprised, but she was much quicker to kiss him back. He was so gentle with her that it made her heart flutter with joy.

But she wanted more. She managed to catch hold of his lower lip and pulled it in between her teeth, sucking and biting down on him. Fili groaned appreciatively at that, and felt dragon fire shoot up through him. The little minx. He let go of her wrists and placed one hand next to her head to steady himself above her, the other hand grasping the back of her head to pull her in tighter. Firiel's hands, now free, wandered up, one sliding into Fili's long, thick hair, and the other cupping his cheek, and dragging her nails lightly through his beard. They pushed back and forth, biting and sucking each other's lips like they were sweet fruit begging to be drained of all their juices. When Fili gave a particularly brutal bite to her lower lip, Firiel gave a sharp, ecstasy-soaked gasp and arched her back, pushing herself right up into him. Fili pushed back, the hand he had been steadying himself with wrapping around her waist as he moved himself between her legs, which she was quick to wrap right around him. He groaned in pleasure as she pulled him right up against her, feeling her heat against his groan. Firiel could feel his whole body pushed up against hers, and it was like nothing she had ever felt before. She felt so whole, and complete. As if she had been missing all that extra weight that was her loving prince.

She felt his erection coming forward to greet her and smiled, tilting her hips to grind herself against his length. They both moaned at the sensation, and Fili was soon grinding his hips into her mercilessly, running his length along what were obviously the lips of her womanhood, swollen with arousal. Firiel felt a chorus of moans bubbling up in the back of her throat, and bit her lip to try and contain them. But soon Fili's mouth was devouring her own again, taking those moans into his own jaws and swallowing them whole. He moved from her mouth then. In fact he backed away from her whole body, the loss of pleasure nearly making Firiel cry. But the loss was brief, for soon he was kissing along her jaw and then her neck, sucking on her delicate skin and biting her gently. Firiel bucked her hips forwards and arched her breasts upwards. She grasped one of Fili's hands and pressed it to her chest, silently urging him to touch her. He did so happily, soon bringing his hand up her tunic and trying to pull her undergarment from her shoulders. Firiel helped him pull it off, and pulled her arms from it, allowing him to pull it down past her waist. Her tunic was now pushed up to her collar bone, and, for the first time, her saw her breasts in the moonlight. The skin was delicate and soft as he had imagined, and her nipples were hard enough to cut glass. They were big yet firm, and he was quick to find that they fit perfectly in his large hands. Firiel arched her back even more, offering her beautiful breasts to him, and he wasted no time accepting the invitation. Bending down, he captured her right nipple in his mouth, gently sucking and biting down on it. Firiel had clearly not been expecting such a sensation, and she cried out in pleasure, her legs squeezing tight around him. Fili had to stop his ministrations immediately as a result, and the two of them looked around, panicked. No one had even stirred. They were all so exhausted they would have slept through the end of the world.

They looked back at one another and began giggling like school children, Fili putting his head down between her breasts and Firiel laying the heel of her hand against her forehead as they snickered in the darkness. It was as if the prospect of being caught made the whole thing even more exciting. Firiel took this opportunity to tip Fili off of her, and she was soon straddling his hips. She pulled her tunic over her head, dropping it down next to them, her hair getting pulled from its ponytail in the process. The dwarf prince was pleasantly surprised by her eagerness and even more surprised when she began to grind her hips back and forth almost expertly. He reached from her, but Firiel simply took his hands, holding them as she moved and panted, moaning softly with her every move. She felt how much wider his hips were than her own, and, though she had not been small amongst her own kind, she had never felt more tiny and delicate in her life.

The moonlight which peeked in through the rafters reflected off her skin, and Fili knew in that moment her had never seen anything more beautiful. Her ears and cheeks were flushed, and her chest was rising and falling with every pant and gasp she elicited. Her dark-blonde curls fell over her shoulders and down her back, framing her gorgeous face in a way he had never seen before. Her eyes were the best part though. Those rush-bottomed lakes had grown deeper than the ocean, swallowing him whole and pulling him in at a nearly alarming rate. They almost seemed to consume him.

Her hands, so cute and dainty, removed themselves from his grip to start pulling off his vest and tunic, and his hands (now free) were on her in an instant. He found that he could not quite reach her breasts, and instead placed them on her waist, helping to pull her back and forth, the friction and heat making him grunt and groan with every shot of pleasure it sent through him. He only removed them from her to pull his clothes from his body, and Firiel saw his torso clearly in the darkness. He was beautiful. Every inch of him was covered in thick, hard muscles. He looked like he really had been carved from stone. His chest and arms had thick blond hair on them, and she found it extremely attractive. She knew she'd find hairless men strange to look at from now on. Fili could feel her whole body trembling and her heavy breathing getting faster and faster. Firiel was fighting not to scream. Fili rolled his hips up into her at one point, pulling her own down and grinding against her, and Firiel nearly toppled over, she eyes fluttering shut and her mouth parting with a silent scream. Now that she was bent down closer to him, he grasped her and pulled her up so their lips met again. Firiel ran her hands along his chest and through his hair as their tongue danced, and Fili found himself being pulled into her even deeper, the swell of her breasts pressed flush against his bare skin.

It occurred to him then that she had clearly done this sort of thing before, and he paused to reflect on it. How many lovers had she had? Did she already have one? He'd never even asked. Firiel noticed his stillness and pulled back, looking at him confused. In her arousal-driven brain, she wondered if he had decided he did not want her. Had he simply cared for her the way he did out of duty? Was this too just part of his dutiful care? Did he just not want to hurt her feelings? As silly on nonsensical as those thoughts were, at the moment she was so emotionally involved that she couldn't stop the hurt that rolled forth. And she was hurt very deeply. It showed on her face. Fili was quick to realize his mistake and rolled them both over, looming over her and kissing her forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her, planting kisses down her cheek and to her jaw, "It's alright. Something just crossed my mind. But it doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

It was true. It really didn't matter. It didn't matter if she had a lover. It didn't matter if she'd had a hundred lovers before him. He wanted her, and only her. No other would do. Nothing could compare to this. He kissed her lips and tried to touch her again, but Firiel's little hands grasped his. He pulled back and saw she looked rather serious.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked him.

Fili considered lying to her, or talking about it later, but the very thought of it made him physically ill. He couldn't lie to her. Not the one person in this whole world he wanted to be close to.

"I was wondering how many lovers you've had," he told her straight, "And if you have one already."

Firiel inhaled through her nose and exhaled with a half-smile. She considered picking up her shirt, considered going back to bed and pretending it had never happened. But she couldn't. This was all escalating so quickly. It was almost as if, once they had each been reminded the other was in fact a sexual creature, all these long repressed little urges to touch one another had spilled forth in a hurricane. And now they had to deal with the aftermath of it all. These feelings couldn't go away. He wanted to know about her romantic past. Firiel hated talking about it, but wasn't it a necessary conversation anyways? What would he think of her after this? His eyes were open, curious. He rolled off of her and lay next to her on his side, resting back on his elbow as she held his other hand. He ran his thumb along the back of one, and she smiled fully at him. It had to be done. He wouldn't judge her for it, she knew.

"I've had one," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling and laughing a little bit, "And he wasn't a very good one. He was a liar, and a cheat, and a user. I thought he really had cared about me, but it turns out I was wrong. Our relationship was nothing more than a physical affair that ended in my misery."

There was a pregnant pause.

"How old were you?" he asked her.

"Not much younger than I am now, really," she shrugged a bit, "I was maybe…twenty-five? Something like that. But, don't get me wrong, I don't regret it. It taught me a lot about myself. I didn't know how strong I could really be until I ended it. I grew up a lot because of it."

Firiel looked at him then, and watched him nod slowly, as if carefully considering this new information. And he was. She said she had been used. How could anyone simply use her? Did they not see what an amazing woman she was? How could anyone lie to her when the thought made him sick?

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he said sincerely, then asked her hopefully, "So, you have no lover right now?"

Firiel laughed.

"I take it you're not counting yourself?" she teased.

Fili found it was his turn to give a quiet laugh, and he ran his hand along the smooth line that ran down the centre of her abdomen. He grinned at the way she jerked up into a ball and snorted, coughing as she tried to keep quiet. She was ticklish. Very ticklish.

"So I take it you don't do this sort of thing often."

It was a statement, not a question, but Firiel elaborated anyways.

"No, I don't," she admitted, grabbing his hand again to pull it away from her sensitive stomach, "I'm not the type to roll in bed with someone I don't have serious feelings for. I mean, I don't judge anyone who can, but it's just not for me."

"You have serious feelings for me?"

He was delighted by the implication, and it showed in the beaming smile he gave in the night. Firiel's heart swelled a bit at the sight of that goofy grin.

"Of course," she laughed a little at the question, "You're so good to me. I feel safe with you. I would never let you touch me like this if I didn't."

At that, Firiel brought his hand up between her breasts, holding it there as she drew little patterns on it with her fingers. He squeezed her little hand with his thumb, and played with the ends of her curls with the hand of the elbow he was resting on.

"So what about you?" she asked him with an all-knowing grin, "How many women have you been with?"

"Three," he told her without hesitation, "A couple of failed courtships with some dwarvish women when I was just a boy, and then your friend back at the inn there."

"We're not really friends, to be brutally honest," Firiel giggled, still stroking his hand absently, "We were really just good acquaintances. After spending all this time with you and the others, I don't think I could call something that shallow a friendship."

"I'm glad there's no lost love there," he smiled before saying, "I thought I might try the whole "unattached" thing at Kili's suggestion, but it wasn't really for me."

"Yeah, I don't think it's really my thing either," she smiled back softly, "So what does that make this then? The two of us?"

Fili brought the hand she was holding up to her neck, cupping her and running his thumb along her jaw. His eyes trailed over her face, taking in everything. Her cuts from the Goblin Town had turned to thin scars, but they made her more beautiful if it was even possible. You could barely see them, for the white scar tissue was nearly the same colour as her skin, but they made her face all the more her own. He kissed them both, the one on her nose and the one on her forehead.

"Anything you want, I suppose," he said, "I am yours to do with as you please."

Firiel sighed, turning on her side to face him. She put her hand on his chest, running her finger nails lightly through the hair as she considered her situation. She laid her hand out flat, and could feel his heart hammering against his chest. Fili shuddered at her touch, taking her hand and kissing it gently. It seemed there was no turning back now. Did she care about Fili? Oh yes; very deeply. Did she love him? Not yet. But she knew she could. Very easily.

"This is all so sudden," she whispered quietly to him, running her thumb over the back of his hand, "I mean, we've just escalated so quickly. I don't think this is normal."

"A dwarf and a hobbit isn't exactly normal," he pointed out, chuckling a bit, "I've been attracted to you since the day I met you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Me too...Your uncle would never approve."

"He doesn't have to."

"Shouldn't we at least get to know each other?"

"But I do know you."

By god, he was stubborn. Wonderfully so.

"I meant that we should get know each other _better_," Firiel laughed softly, giving one of his beard-braids a good-natured little tug.

Fili grinned at her pluck and nodded his head, conceding her point. There were still plenty of things they didn't know about one another. Firiel sat up and grabbed her tunic, which had ended up on Fili's other side. His hands were on her the whole time, touching the small of her back or playing with her hair. Firiel loved it. She fixed her clothing back into place, smiling from ear to ear the whole time. Fili did the same and, when they lay back down, he gathered her in his arms. Her head rested on his bicep and her face was in his chest, his other arm draped over her waist. They exchanged a final glance, simple yet contented, and soon Firiel nodded off to sleep again.

Fili played with her fine hair while she slept, wondering what on Earth he had just gotten himself into. She was as close to perfect as could exist, he was sure, but Thorin's words always played in the back of his mind. Firiel could never be his queen. Perhaps Thorin would marry and have children. Then he wouldn't need a queen after all. Fili snorted at the thought; that woman would have to be one tough cookie. And that was if someone who could put up with Thorin even existed. He started to ponder other options that might allow them a future, but sleep soon overcame him as well. As he faded off, the scent of Firiel's hair made every muscle in his back slip into a euphoric relaxation.

* * *

**AN:** Well, that escalated quickly. Guess who found DoS online! So, stuff will be posted at a pretty regular rate after all. The next chapter should hopefully be out soon. I'm going to try and keep a more steady chapter length going from now on, since these are kind of sporadic in length. Thanks for your support guys!


	11. Chapter 11

Morning rose, and the sun poured in over Firiel's face, shining brightly on her eyes and rousing her from sleep. She found herself still bundled up with Fili, her whole body pressed against his as he slept on. She looked up at his sleeping face and smiled. He looked so young, so peaceful. She tried to roll away and sit up, but Fili's arms wound around her even more, pulling her back down. She gave a little squeal and she was soon underneath her dwarf prince. He had not been asleep at all, the trickster.

"Good morning," he grinned, innocently placing a kiss on her nose, "How did you sleep?"

"Don't you give me that," Firiel giggled back, "But I slept fine, thank you. Yourself?"

"Never better," he said, finally releasing her and sitting up.

He stretched loftily, his shoulders popping slightly, and Firiel looked around. The others were just waking in the light of dawn, it seemed. Suddenly, a smell passed under her nose that made her mouth water. Warm milk, and honey, and the smell of frying eggs. Firiel scrambled up to her feet and looked around, turning back towards the little kitchen area.

By the stove stood a huge man with long, thick black hair and a ratty looking vest of sorts. He was huge even by the standards of men, it seemed, towering over that tall table. Firiel could not contain her curiosity, and tiptoed away from Fili (who was trying to wake Kili), leaping lightly up the little stairs and hiding behind one of the stools. She peaked out from behind the stool to watch the man, and saw that, from the front, he looked nothing like the men of Bree, or even Gandalf. His face was covered in hair, and it all seemed to attack together around his stern-looking face. Firiel could not help but watch him, for he had a strange yet mystifying air to him. Was this their host? When the question crossed her mind, she watched his nostrils flare as he sniffed the air. His eyes then turned on her in an instant, and she knew that this must be Beorn. He shared those eyes with the great bear. Firiel tucked herself back behind the stool instantly, embarrassed to have been caught. But, the supposedly unfriendly man smiled down gently at her before turning back to his eggs.

"Do not be afraid, little one," his voice rumbled gently through the kitchen, "You may come out. There is no need to hide."

Firiel came back out, and stared up at Beorn, her eyes wide and curious. Had Gandalf not said that he was neither friend nor foe? That he didn't like dwarves? Though Firiel was not a dwarf herself, she did travel with a large number of them.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly, "I have not seen many men in my life, and I thought it might be best not to disturb you."

The squeaking of a little mouse then drew her attention. It was at Beorn's feet, a little paw placed on his foot. The giant man looked down at the creature with his dangerous eyes and Firiel was frightened for it, until Beorn smiled. He produced a cube of cheese from the counter and bent down to the ground, giving the little creature the morsel.

"You need not fear, little lamb," Beorn's voice, though rough, was gentle as she addressed her again, "No harm will come to you in this place."

The mouse was not even remotely afraid of him, which sparked Firiel's interest fiercely. It skittered away from him, and ran right to her feet. It must have thought she had something for it as well. Firiel smiled at the mouse, crouching down to scratch its tiny head. The creature, to her amazement, allowed her to pet it and snuggled up into her hand. When it saw she had no food though, it was quick to dash away. Beorn watched the exchange with interest, and Firiel saw a great, painful sadness pass over his features. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived though, and the skin changer was once again unreadable.

When Beorn stood again, Firiel noticed his head nearly reached the expansive ceiling. It was miraculous. She had never seen someone so huge. She heard footsteps from behind her and looked to see Gandalf coming towards her. He passed her though and headed right on to Beorn. The bear-man did not look so delighted to see Gandalf.

"My dear Beorn," Gandalf said, "It is wonderful to see you."

"I should have known," Beorn dismissed the wizard growlingly, turning back to his pan, "No one else would be so bold as to bring these dwarves into my home."

"Well, as you can see, they are not all dwarves," Gandalf then turned back towards Firiel, a knowing glimmer in his eyes, "Please allow me to introduce Miss Firiel-May Brandybuck of Bree. I think you will find her company far makes up for the others. Miss Firiel, allow me to introduce to you Beorn."

Beorn stared down at Firiel again, taking her little form into consideration. Firiel straightened her back and stood tall, looking Beorn in the eye as best she could. The skin changer nodded in her direction and crouched down to the floor again, extending his hand. She could wrap her whole hand around his index finger and shook it gently, smiling at him. Beorn seemed to at least not despise her.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Beorn," Firiel told him, "And please, call me Firiel."

Beorn, ever the strong, silent type, nodded his head again, standing quickly. Firiel looked up after him, and noticed his eyes grew dark as he looked behind her. Firiel turned to see Fili and Kili standing just behind her, regarding him just as carefully.

"Fili, Kili," she smiled, "You should meet Mr. Beorn. He's very kind."

But they did not smile back. Firiel looked between them and Beorn, and saw the tense expression with which Beorn was regarding them. He did not look very pleased to see them.

"Dwarves," Beorn greeted them tersely.

Fili nodded stiffly at Beorn, while Kili just stared at him. Firiel could not understand his reaction towards them. Beorn didn't even frighten a mouse, and yet here he stood, looking as though he would eat her friends. The others (except her uncle) had joined them, and Beorn looked on them scornfully. Firiel walked to the brothers and stood close to them, looking back up at Beorn strangely. He had spoken so gently to her. The bear-man seemed to notice her gaze, and, while he did not look even remotely effected, he at least turned back to look at his eggs. Piling them off and onto a plate, the giant man put the plate on the table and stared back at them.

"Eat," he grunted out.

No one moved but Gandalf, who smiled at them and nodded them forwards. It seemed this was Beorn's way of showing them kindness, even if he did hate dwarves. Firiel blinked her eyes a few times, but followed Gandalf's instructions to sit down to the table as the wizard and Beorn whispered quietly to one another. She could not quite get up on the stool, and Fili came to her aid, lifting her up by her waist and helping her climb up before he and Kili jumped onto the stools next to her at the head of the table. She noticed as he pulled himself up that his hand was still bandaged, and smiled in delight. He had actually listened to her, it seemed.

When she was sat, she saw that the table was already filled with food. There was bread and oats, nuts and berries, and large plates and fork set out everywhere. A giant pitcher was at the centre of the table, and man-sized mugs were set out. Enough for all of them. The others all sat down at the table, and Beorn took up the pitcher, pouring milk into their mugs. Bombur was the first to pick up his food, and soon they all joined him. Firiel grinned joyfully as she grabbed the bowl of berries, pulling it towards her and spooning some out. Bilbo soon joined them, sitting at the other head near the hearth. Beorn looked down to a post as he filled Fili's mug, and Firiel saw that Thorin was leaning up against it. The dwarf would not sit at the table.

"So, you are the one they call Oakenshield," Beorn said, regarding Thorin stiffly as he headed towards the next mug, "Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Firiel nearly choked on her blackberry at the mention of the pale orc. How did Beorn know? Had he been out guarding them in the night?

"You know of Azog?" Thorin asked him, finally looking up at the skin changer, "How?"

"My people were the first to live in the mountains," Beorn told them, "Before the orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family. But some he enslaved."

At that, Firiel and Bilbo saw something that made Firiel's heart bleed. There were shackles on Beorn's wrists. Bits of chain link still hung from them, clattering as he moved.

"Not for work, you understand," he continued darkly, rasping out each sentence as he walked towards the other side of the table, "But for sport. Caging skin changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him."

His tone was bitter, and he glared down the table at Thorin, filling Ori's mug without even looking.

"There are others like you?" Bilbo asked him.

Beorn gazed down at her uncle, but soon turned to continue.

"Once there were many," Beorn whispered, his voice thick and swimming with tears he did not shed.

"And now?" Firiel asked him, "How many are there?"

Beorn's eyes met her own, and Firiel knew she would not like his answer. His eyes were sad, mournful, grieved beyond consolation.

"Now there is only one," Beorn said softly.

Firiel felt her heart go out to him. How lonely that must be; to lose not only one's family, but one's entire race. Beorn did not dwell on it for long though, and turned his eyes from her own.

"You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn," Beorn sat himself down at the table, looking at Gandalf.

How had Beorn known? Had Gandalf told him?

"Before Durin's Day falls, yes," Gandalf nodded.

"You are running out of time," Beorn said.

"Yes, which is why we must go through Mirkwood," Gandalf told him.

A look crossed Beorn's face that made her feel nauseous.

"A darkness lies upon that forest," Beorn stared Gandalf down, "Fowl things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the orcs of Moria and the necromancer in Dol Guldur."

Wait, a necromancer? Nobody had mentioned a necromancer before. They were dark sorcerers who could raise the dead to do their bidding, but they had only been the stuff of myths and fairy tales to Firiel before this point. She swallowed, reaching for Fili's hand under the table. He took it and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. When had she become so dependent on him for comfort without realizing it? The act was not lost on Thorin, who scowled. What had he told that boy? Fili's stubbornness sometimes rivaled even his own.

"I would not venture there," Beorn looked out at the company pleadingly, "Except in great need."

"We will take the elven road," Gandalf tried to assure him, "Their path is still safe."

"Safe?" Beorn nearly laughed, "The Wood Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. Less wise, and more dangerous. But it matters not."

"What do you mean?" Thorin demanded.

"These lands are crawling with orcs," Beorn told him, "Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive."

The way Beorn looked at him was as though the skin changer were taking some sick pleasure in the very thought of orcs descending on them and ripping them to shreds. Firiel felt nauseous just from seeing the hateful fire in Beorn's wild eyes, and pulled her hand back from Fili, putting her head down on the table and trying to breathe deeply.

"I'm going to be sick," she whispered faintly, "It's too early for this."

Fili's hand was on her back at those very words, rubbing gentle circles. Beorn stood, and began to stalk towards Thorin. He was so large that he had to duck under a support beam.

"I don't like dwarves," he said, advancing on him slowly, "They're greedy. And blind.

"Blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own," he practically snarled, picking up a little mouth that Bofur had just brushed off.

Beorn continued towards Thorin, and glared down at him. No one knew what he was going to do.

"But orcs, I hate more," Beorn announced threateningly, looking down at Thorin less hatefully now, "What do you need?"

* * *

To Beorn's credit, he had not complained once when he had been told what the dwarves needed, and provided all of it (though begrudgingly). He gave them his ponies, and helped provide them with gear and food for their day. There were just enough ponies for fourteen of them, but Firiel and Fili had no issue riding together. By the time they were ready to go, it was late morning. Beorn came towards her and Fili's mount, and looked at Firiel in her place between Fili's arms.

"Here," Beorn said to her, extending his hand, "Take this."

Firiel opened her hand and the giant man placed three tiny seeds in her palm. Firiel stared at them in wonder.

"Thank you," she murmured, "What are they?"

"Seeds of the Star Tree," he told her, "Sacred amongst my people, if eaten, they are rumoured to heal any wound. Use them wisely."

Firiel gazed at Beorn's face then, her eyes wide at his gift. Perhaps he liked her after all.

"Thank you so much," she beamed at him, but her smile fell as she asked, "But why give it to me?"

At that, Firiel saw the last smile she would ever see the bear-man give. He closed her little hand around them with a gentleness she had not expected.

"You remind me of my daughter," he ground out softly.

Firiel was lost at those words. That was what his mournful looks had been about. That was why he had spoken to her so gently, and smiled so kindly. She didn't know what to say, but Beorn seemed to understand her feelings well enough. He gave her hand an uncharacteristically delicate squeeze before backing away from them. He glared briefly at Fili as he parted.

"Do not poison her heart with your greed, dwarf," he spat with a small snarl.

Firiel giggled a little at the face Fili made, reaching back around him to her pack and putting the seeds in a well-buttoned pocket. It seemed they were all set. Suddenly, something caught the Beorn's attention, and he turned out to the woods, as though hearing something the rest of them could not.

"Go now," Beorn ordered, "While you still have the light. Your hunters are not far behind."

And off they went, without so much as a goodbye. Gripping tight to Fili, Firiel looked back around him at Beorn. He took off into the woods, in the direction which he had looked before they left. Was he going to stall the orcs? Fur erupted from his back as he reached the brush, and Firiel knew that had to be it. Despite his outer shell, he was truly a very kind man.

* * *

On they rode over the hills as the sunlight began to dip, Mirkwood coming into view just as late afternoon was upon them. Firiel didn't see what the big deal was at first; it just looked like a dense forest. As they drew closer though, Firiel saw what it was that made them change the forest's name in the first place. The trees were all dead and gnarled, curling gruesomely away from the light. The forest looked black within, as if no light poured in through the dead and rotting vegetation. As they came upon it, a dark dread rose up in Firiel's gut. It was as if the wood was breathing darkness. She didn't like this place. Not one bit. Her worst fear was realized when Gandalf halted them here, and headed towards the woods.

"Here lies our path through Mirkwood," Gandalf called back.

"No sign of the orcs," Dwalin said, "We have luck on our side."

That seemed to be good enough for the dwarves and Bilbo, and everyone began to dismount. Firiel saw Gandalf looking out into the distance, and looked in the same direction. A great black bear stood on the far hill. She had been right about Beorn. It seemed their lack of orc encounters had not been luck at all.

"Set the ponies loose," Gandalf told them, "Let them return to their master."

Firiel smiled to herself, but soon felt a wave of nausea pass through her. She turned to look back at the woods, and the feeling grew worse. What was this place and why did it make her feel so sick?

"Please tell me there's another way besides going through there," Firiel whispered softly to Fili before he slid off their pony.

Fili turned back and reached up for her.

"Why? Have you been here?" he asked her.

Firiel brought her leg over the pony and slid down comfortably into his arms. She closed her eyes and willed an even stronger wave of sickness down.

"No, and I never wish to be," Firiel shuddered, gripping him tightly as she looked out into the trees, "Can you not feel that?"

"Feel what?"

Fili looked out into the trees and tried to understand, but found he couldn't. They were just trees. He looked back at Firiel, and the expression on her face made him wish instantly that he knew what she was talking about. She looked as nauseous as she had that morning, when Beorn had been telling them about the place. He kept his arm around her as they headed towards Gandalf and the others, afraid she would topple if he let go. She looked pale.

"Is there no way around?" she heard Bilbo ask Gandalf.

"Not unless we head over 300 miles north," the wizard replied, "And twice that distance south."

When he saw her and Fili coming towards the Elven Gate, Bofur rushed towards her, calling out her name in concern. Bilbo turned in an instant, paling at the sight of her and running towards them. The others crowded around her in a panic, and she knew she must look awful. One look at Bilbo and she knew he felt it too. At least a little bit. Thorin came towards them, concerned, but not enough to hide his displeasure at the thought of her delaying them.

"What is wrong with her?" he demanded of Fili, glaring at the two of them.

"I don't know," Fili told him, looking back a Thorin helplessly, "She's looked like this since we arrived."

Firiel tried to focus on her breathing, and soon found her feet would not support her. Her knees gave way and Fili caught her immediately, pulling her up into his arms as the others all gasped and began to talk amongst themselves, unsure of what was wrong. Firiel looked towards the Elven Gate. It was the only thing that this sick place hadn't touched. She looked over at Gandalf, who did not seem surprised or concerned by her condition. Her eyes grew knowing and angry as she looked at the wizard, her stomach taking a new turn. Fili followed her gaze, and saw how calm Gandalf appeared as well. He felt rage spike through him. Gandalf knew something, and he wasn't telling them. As usual.

"What's wrong with her?" he demanded, his tone like molten rock, "What do you know?"

"What is wrong with her, Master Fili, is that the forest making her ill," Gandalf told him crossly, "Sit her down with her head between her knees and something cool on her neck."

He glared at the wizard, but quickly did as instructed, bringing her down to the ground. If it helped her, he would ask questions later. Once her head was between her knees, Firiel began to feel a little bit better. Fili had nothing cool with him except his blades. He pulled one out quickly and placed the flat edge along the back of her neck.

"Don't move," he whispered to her, placing his forehead against her hair, "I have to use my sword. Let me know when it passes, and I'll move it."

"Okay," Firiel murmured back to him, "I will."

As they sat there, she could hear the others asking Gandalf all kinds of questions. The wizard ignored them all.

"What do you mean "the forest is making her ill"?" Bilbo asked him, "Why is it making her sick?"

"How are you fairing, my dear?" Gandalf asked her, having come right up to her and Fili.

Fili watched as the wizard squat down beside them, putting his great hand on Firiel's back. Firiel groaned in response to his question, her head now pounding as though it were being beaten from the inside with a mallet. Or a mace. Whichever was more painful. Probably a mace. It couldn't simply be from the trees; nothing had ever made feel ill like this before. She couldn't even smell anything, so there was no way it was rot. Gandalf began to mutter something incoherently, rubbing circles on her back. Firiel soon felt her nausea passing, and then her headache. She didn't know what the wizard was doing, but it was working.

She poked Fili to let him know he could move his sword now. He pulled it back with great care and sheathed it, immediately checking the back of her neck for any damage. Seeing she was unharmed, he looked back at her face, and was relieved to see the colour returning to her cheeks and the light returning to her eyes. He turned to look back at Gandalf, and gave him a grateful smile.

"Thank you," he said to the wizard, placing his hand on Firiel's now pink cheek.

"Not to worry, my dear boy," Gandalf smiled down at the young pair, pulling himself back up to full height, "It should not happen again."

Fili didn't need to ask him anything anymore, as long as she would be alright. Firiel rubbed her eyes, having recovered from whatever it was that had been making her feel so horrible. She glanced up at Gandalf, but found the wizard taking off back to the woods before she had the time to ask what that had been. Fili pulled her to her feet, and she noticed that some of the others were watching her quite wearily now. Bilbo, Kili, Dori, Ori, Bofur, Bombur, and Balin all rushed to her though, bombarding her with questions about her condition.

"It's alright everyone, I'm fine, really," she giggled a bit, "Thank you for the concern."

As soon as she had pacified her friends, they each returned to their ponies, gathering their belongings down and setting them loose. She and Fili walked back slowly, her prince watching her every step carefully. He looked ready to pounce should she need his help. Firiel gave him a rather amused look.

"Fili, I'm fine," she said, "Gandalf said it shouldn't happen again, and I feel ok now."

"You really trust a word he says?" Fili asked her.

"Well, he doesn't really lie," Firiel chuckled a bit, "He just withholds information.'

Fili rolled his eyes a little, but relaxed, trusting Firiel's judgement. She would know better than he would if her sickness came on again. They returned to their pony and Fili pulled her pack off and handed it to her, taking the rest of the gear himself, despite her protests. She wouldn't carry a thing extra until he knew she would be alright. They all released their ponies, and Nori was about to release Gandalf's horse for him, but the wizard came shooting back through the trees.

"Not my horse!" he cried, "I need it!"

Firiel could not believe her ears. The company all turned to stare at Gandalf.

"You're not leaving us," Bilbo was a shocked as the rest of them.

"I would not unless I had to," Gandalf said.

They all stared at the wizard, unable to imagine crossing this place without him. Gandalf looked down at Bilbo, and a strange look came upon him.

"You've changed, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf said to him, looming over her uncle, "You're not the same hobbit who left the Shire."

"I was going to tell you," Bilbo began, his tone thick with emotion, "I found something in the goblin tunnels."

"Found what?" Gandalf asked him suspiciously, "What did you find?"

Bilbo paused, seemingly until he found the right words.

"My courage."

At that, Gandalf smiled.

"Good, well that's good," he told Bilbo, straightening up, "You'll need it."

He turned from Bilbo and headed to his horse. Rain began to fall as he took his leave.

"I'll be waiting for you at the overlook before the slopes of Erebor," Gandalf told them as he went, "Keep the map and key safe.

"Do not enter that mountain without me," he said, glaring down at Thorin pointedly.

"This is not the Greenwood of old," the wizard continued, "The very air is thick with illusion. It will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray."

"Lead us astray?" Bilbo muttered, "What does that mean?"

"You must stay on the path," Gandalf mounted his horse, "You must not leave it. If you do, you'll never find it again."

Firiel felt panic rise up in her throat. Gandalf turned to look at her once he was mounted, and seemingly read her mind. He smiled down at her knowingly.

"Don't worry, my dear," he told her, "It is not you I fear for, for you shall find only strength in this wood.

"If you should find yourselves lost, look to young Firiel," Gandalf told the dwarves, "She will know the way."

Wait, what? Firiel didn't know the way. She didn't even know the first thing about this place, other than what she felt and what Gandalf had just told them. Before anyone could ask him any questions, the wizard was off.

"Wait, what does that even mean? I don't know the way," Firiel shouted after him, "Gandalf?! GANDALF!"

"No matter what should come your way, stay on the path!" the wizard called back.

And then he was gone. Firiel stared after him, totally lost by what he meant. How could she know the way?

"Come on," Thorin commanded them, turning off towards the gate, "Let's go. We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin's Day. We've got one chance to find the hidden door."

The dwarves all muttered in agreement, and Fili put his hand on Firiel's arm, motioning her along with him. She followed him into the woods, and could not help the little nauseous wave that passed through her as they left the Elven Gate. The forest looked as dark and unwelcoming on the inside as it had on the outside. She followed behind Fili, close to the front where Thorin lead the way. She looked around, and to her, the path seemed very simple as it lead forwards. But suddenly, Thorin stopped and made an abrupt left turn.

"The path leads this way," Thorin called back, turning off.

Firiel looked around, utterly puzzled. Where did Thorin think he was going? The path was straight with only slight bends for at least another few meters.

"He's joking right?" Firiel muttered to Fili, but grabbed him as he turned to follow, "Where do you think you're going?"

"What?" he asked her, "I'm following the path."

"But can't you see it goes straight?"

"What are you talking about? There's a tree straight ahead."

Firiel stared at him for a moment, unable to believe what she was hearing. She looked around and saw that the path had changed. A tree now stood in their way, and Thorin's path was the only way to go. What on Earth…?

"I swear, it was right there," Firiel murmured, taking off towards the tree.

Fili grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

"Remember, Gandalf said to stay on the path," he reminded her, "Don't worry. It's marked by stone, so that should be easy enough to follow."

Firiel looked down at the ground, puzzled. There were no stones beneath her feet. Just dirt.

"What on Earth are you-?"

"Hey, move it," Nori snapped, pushing them along after Thorin, "Can't fall behind now."

And soon Firiel was shoved off, Fili pulling her along through the darkness. She didn't know where she was going, and, as they went deeper and deeper into the dark, murky wood, she had a feeling that the dwarves didn't either.

* * *

They had been walking for hours, moving slowly through the trees and rotting underbrush. The smell would have been enough to kill a horse at some points. Firiel lost track of how long they had been walking. And, what was worse, she was the only person who seemed to realize that they had no idea where they were going. Where was this stone path they kept talking about? She couldn't see it. The only thing under their feet was dirt and rotting vegetation. Every time she tried to say something, the company would brush it off or ignore it completely. It was like they couldn't hear her. She tried to pry herself from Fili's hands on several occasions, but it was like his hand had become a shackle, gripped around her with a firmness that was inescapable.

"Are we there?" she heard Oin begin to cry out, "Are we there?! What's happening?! My head's swimming!"

"Keep moving!" Thorin ordered.

Firiel was pulled along until they came to a great halt. She once again tried to pry herself free of Fili's grip, and found it was once again no use. They had wound up near the back now.

"Nori, why have we stopped?" Thorin demanded.

"The path," she heard Nori cry, "It's disappeared!"

Firiel peaked out of the line and saw that this imaginary path they had been following had led them right to a cliff.

"What's going on?" Fili asked.

"We've lost the path!" Gloin shouted in frustration.

Firiel knew they might still not hear her, but she had to try.

"There is no path," Firiel called out, "There hasn't been one since our first-!"

"Find it," Thorin ordered them, panicked, "All of you find it! Look for the path!"

Fili finally let go of her wrist, and Firiel pulled it to her body with a great sigh of relief. Her entire wrist was red, and she was sure if she checked, the redness would be in the shape of Fili's hand. She rubbed her sore joint, unable to understand what was going on. Why couldn't they see it, or her, for that matter? Why couldn't they hear her? What was happening? Why was she the only one who knew the way?

At that, Firiel gave pause. That is what Gandalf had meant. That's why this place made her so sick. Made her companions incapable of seeing and hearing her. It had no power over her mind, so it tried to slow her down in other ways. She was the only one who knew the way. And she knew that they had long since left it.

Now, how this had come to be, Firiel had no idea really. There was nothing that separated her from the others that she was aware of in terms of importance, or strength, or stature. Why her?

She watched as her companions wandered around in circles, heading deeper into the woods. Their voices echoed drearily through the air.

"I don't remember this place," she heard Balin say, "None of its familiar!"

"It's got to be here," Dori cried.

"Keep looking," Thorin said, "We've got to find it."

Firiel followed them, tugging on them and beating at them with her fists. The deeper they wandered, the more she saw that the ground and trees were covered in webs. Spider webs. And they were huge.

"Please," Firiel cried out, shaking Bilbo's shoulders as he fiddled with a cobweb, "Uncle, please! You have to wake up!"

When Bilbo gave the web a tug, the vibration seemed to course throughout the whole forest. Bilbo pulled it again, and the process repeated. It seemed to be bringing him out of his daze a little. Firiel watched the vibrations speed away to parts unknown, and remembered something from one of her books. Vibrations and shaking in webs was how spiders knew they had caught their prey. Nauseous realization coursed through her. This place was leading them into a trap.

The company gathered together again and took off in a line, seemingly forgetting she was even supposed to be with them. They wandered in circles around the web infested wood, their gear dropping from their bodies as they went. Ori eventually picked something up off the ground.

"Look at what I've found," he said.

"It's a virago pouch," Dori looked around in drunken excitement, "There're dwarves in these woods."

Bofur snatched the pack back, examining it.

"Dwarves from the Blue Mountains no less," he awed, "This is exactly the same as mine!"

"It is yours!" Firiel screamed at them, "You've been wandering in circles!"

She soon saw Bilbo watching them, and he jolted at her scream. He looked about as though he was shocked for moment, before the spell of the forest took hold again. She felt her heart grow lighter. Bilbo could hear her. Whatever it was that kept her mind safe, Bilbo had some of it too. On some level, he could hear her.

"It is yours," her uncle snapped, stalking towards them and repeating her point, "Do you understand? We've been going round in circles! We are lost!"

"We're not lost," Thorin told him, "We keep heading east."

"But which way is east?" Bofur asked, "We've lost the sun."

This is where she truly knew the enchantment had taken hold of them, for the sun was filtering down through the trees right above them. Firiel had an idea suddenly, and dashed over to Bilbo. She got right up in her uncle's ear and took a deep breath. She had no idea what sorts of beasts her shouts could be drawing, but getting them out of this place was more important.

"Look up!" she shouted.

And Bilbo did just that, turning his gaze up to the trees. He muttered to himself, tapping his forehead.

"Up there," he said, pointing upwards, "We need to get up there!"

Firiel could have cried out in joy, where it not for the fact that Oin and Bifur soon fell to the ground, choking one another. The dwarves all began to do the same thing, gathering in a giant crowd to fight one another. She looked about and quickly spotted Fili and Kili. They stood next to one another, taking on Ori and Nori, the four of them pushing against each other and arguing in Kazdul. Bilbo saw his time would be wasted down there with them, and he began to climb the dead trees towards the sun. Firiel was torn between going after Bilbo and staying here to try and break up the fighting.

The sound of her name rolling off Fili's lips amongst a chorus of angry shouts pulled her into the crowd of dwarves though. He was taking on Ori, the only one in the company other than him who had ever been remotely attracted to her in the way he was. She managed to shove her way through, elbowing herself between the beefy dwarves. She soon found her way to Fili, and watched as he punched Ori right across the face. Firiel cried out in second-hand pain, and nearly screamed when Ori tackled Fili right into a nearby boulder, fearing he would crack his skull. She quickly forgot about the others and rushed forwards, trying to shove her all too invisible self between the two of them as they shoved against one another. She had no idea what they were saying, but her name passed between them more than once, and she hoped her name was just a simple, aggressive phrase in Kazdul. Dwalin, in the rush of uncharacteristic moments this place brought on, was trying to separate the men from one another. Suddenly, a chattering rang through the trees, and Thorin, who had remained to the side, stopped to listen.

"Shhhh, listen. LISTEN!" Thorin yelled over the racket, "QUIET! ALL OF YOU!"

Even when possessed by black magic, these men still obeyed him. Thorin stared them down.

"We're being watched," he whispered.

Firiel looked around, and suddenly she heard it. A great cracking sound that pinged through the forest, hurling towards them. Something was coming. Something big.

"Firiel?"

Firiel looked up from her place shoved between Fili and Ori, and saw Fili looking down at her, dazed and confused. But he could see her. If she had learned anything about this place, that could not be good.

She soon heard her uncle's screams, and look up into the trees. And her own quickly joined Bilbo's as a net web fell down upon the company. She could see nothing but the white cloud of web that covered her, and felt herself being ripped away from Fili.

"Firiel!" she heard him scream.

All she felt were two shape fangs digging into her arm, and something rolling her body around and around. She tried to fight, kicking and punching as she would, but soon her eyelids and muscles grew too heavy to move. The last thing she remembered before drifting off into darkness was a chorus of sickeningly creepy chatters.


	12. Chapter 12

When Firiel awoke, she felt lethargic and swollen. She also felt like she was being prodded, with big fuzzy sticks. Big, fuzzy, fleshy sticks. She did not want to know what was going on outside her sticky prison. Suddenly, her prodder moved away, and she could hear the sounds of someone grunting and kicking. The chattering she had heard earlier finally clued her in, and her fuzzy senses concocted what was happening. Spiders. Giant spider had attacked and captured them, and now they were going to be eaten. Death just couldn't seem to nipping at her heels these days.

Suddenly, Firiel heard a little thud in the distance, and the chattering soon faded away from her. She was still half-dazed, but waited until she could hear nothing but the wind blowing through the trees. Using all of what little strength she had left, Firiel dragged her arm around her body from inside her cocoon. She found the hilt of Fili's knife, and managed to pull it out without too much difficulty. She slowly brought her hand up near her face, and cut herself an eyehole just in time to see a sight she would never forget. Her uncle, covered in webs, pulling his little sword from the face of a great spider as it plummeted from the tree. He seemed to consider the sword for a moment, muttering rather giddily to himself, before turning towards her and the rest of the company (she supposed they were strung up at well). He noticed her little eyehole and rushed towards her, reaching his sword carefully up through and cutting her free. Firiel flipped out of her sticky prison and allowed Bilbo to steady her as she sheathed her knife, some venom still running though her system. Bilbo smiled and embraced her quickly before setting off to cut the dwarves down. Firiel shook her head a couple times and drew her sword, taking off after Bilbo.

They slashed the dwarves free of whatever webbing held them up, watching as they gracefully fell to the ground below. The fall shook them awake, and soon they were fighting to get free of their cocoons. Firiel grabbed a bit of webbing and lowered herself quickly and quietly to the ground, taking off into the pile to start helping them get free. She cut the first on open and found it to be Fili. Her pulse immediately slowed when she saw that he was alright. He looked equally relieved to see her, and sat up quickly to embrace her.

"You're alright," he breathed a sigh of relief, "I thought I'd lost you in the woods."

The others were not nearly so quiet as he was though. She moved from Fili and he drew his swords, the two of them cutting the others free.

"Shhh, shhhh," she told them, "It's only me. Be quiet, before they come back."

They sighed in relief at the sound of her voice, but soon noticed another was missing.

"Bilbo, where's Bilbo?" they cried.

"I'm up here!" he shouted down.

Suddenly, from the shadows beneath Bilbo's perch, and giant spider emerged, leaping for her uncle. Firiel didn't get much time to worry about him though, for soon she could see through the webs a whole legion of spiders making their way towards the company. Why did it have to be giant spiders?

"Run!' she cried, grabbing hold of whoever was nearest and shooting up with them, "They're coming!"

The dwarves must have seen what she was talking about, for soon they were behind her, and around her, running as fast as their legs could carry them as they tried to throw off the webbing that covered them. They were mostly successful, but soon they were surrounded. The dwarves quickly drew their weapons, and began to beat the spiders back. Firiel was repulsed by the sight of them. If there was one thing she hated, it was spiders.

She found she was knocked to the ground by one, and barely managed to stab it through its head before it sunk it's fangs into her. The creature's legs curled around her in rigor mortis, and she knew she couldn't throw it off herself, but Fili soon came to her aid, pulling the beast off of her before her arms collapsed. He pulled her to her feet and they took off again. One managed to grab Kili from behind, and Fili slashed off its back legs. The creature reared back and Kili stabbed it through the mouth. One came upon Fili from behind and Firiel, without even thinking, was up on its back in and instant, slamming her sword though its exoskeleton. The creature fell down dead, and she leapt off. She took off immediately towards another one that was about to crash down on Bofur, and that was when she realized that some of them had lost their weapons. Dwalin had dropped him hammer at some point, and was beating a spider to death with his bare hands. She didn't have the time to stop and be brutally impressed, for Bofur was about to be dinner. She slashed the monster's left-front leg out from under it, and soon took the others as well. Soon, they were off again through the woods.

"Come on! Keep up!" Dori yelled.

She and Fili took off like the young shots they were, heading off after the others. Then, suddenly, a rather unexpected surprise emerged from the trees.

It was an elf. He scaled down the webs and slid down the trees towards them, taking out spider after spider on his way, his blonde hair trailing behind him like a golden cape. The spiders all skittered away in fright, and Firiel felt utter relief. They were saved. When the elf reached them though, he drew back his bow and pointed his arrow right at Thorin. At that same moment, a circle of elven arches, all just as fair as their supposed leader, burst forth from the webs in the trees, arrows trained on them. Firiel could suddenly see what Beorn had meant. These elves were nothing like those of Rivendell.

"Do not think I will not kill you, dwarf," the blonde leader sneered down at Thorin, "It would be my pleasure."

Suddenly, a cry was heard from behind them. They all turned back, and saw Kili being thrown to the ground by a spider who had remained.

"Kili!" Fili shouted, trying to rush towards his brother.

Firiel watched as the archers suddenly trained their arrows on him and grabbed Fili's vest, tugging him back with all her weight. She understood, but she could not watch him die trying to aid his brother. Surly Kili could fight the beast off.

The spider had Kili's boot in its jaws, and Kili was fighting it with all his might. None of the elven archers moved to help him, and Firiel boiled inside. More spiders scaled down the tree towards him, but she soon saw why the elves had not moved. Another was making their way down the trees, arrows flying into the heads of every spider they passed.

It was a she-elf. A beautiful, flame-haired she-elf. Firiel marvelled at the way she swooped in, stabbing at the spiders with her blade and shooting arrows through their heads. She shot the spider attacking Kili between the eyes, and then stabbed one coming at her from behind. It was a spectacle to behold. She was an exquisite warrior.

Kili jumped to his feet and stared off into the trees as the she-elf was fighting off another spider.

"Throw me a dagger," he shouted, "Quick!"

She did one better though, and, as she stabbed one creature as she tossed her knife at a spider that had just appeared from the roots. Muttering something Firiel could not make out from her place with the others. When the fighting was finished, Kili and his beautiful savior stared at one another for a moment, and that moment as definitely not lost on Firiel.

Soon though, he was herded over with the rest of them, and arrow to his back, and Fili clapped his brother on the back as Firiel rushed forwards to embrace her friend. She pulled away and moved to stand closer to Fili, looking out at their elven captors.

"Search them," the blond elf ordered.

Soon, the elves were upon them, pulling their clothes open and removing any weapons they found. Firiel was grateful that she did not have many layers, and simply grit her teeth as a she-elf pat her down to make sure she wasn't hiding anything. When the woman took her hunting knife, Firiel lunged after it, only to be grabbed from her other side. Her pack was soon pulled from her back, and the contents emptied onto the ground. They quickly rifled through her possessions, and found nothing to be of any value, quickly stuffing them all back in and throwing it on the pile of her belongings. Firiel was embarrassed, but soon became outraged when she heard the way one of them was speaking to poor Gloin.

"Who is this?" the blond asked, holding what looked to be a portrait case and sneering at it, "Your brother?"

"That is my wife," Gloin shot back, his ears going red with anger.

"And what is this horrid creature?" the elf glanced up at Gloin briefly, "Goblin mutant?"

That was going too far. Gloin had shown Firiel those portraits when he'd told her about his family. She thought they were absolutely beautiful, and she'd told him so.

"That is my wee lad," Gloin stated proudly, "Gimli."

The elf scowled at the name and opened his mouth to say something more, but Firiel wouldn't allow it.

"Why don't you sod off?" she asked him loudly.

It was at that moment that the elves really seemed to notice she was there. The elf glowered at her and tossed the portraits back at Gloin's face, taking slow, purposeful steps towards her small form. Firiel was no longer the shrinking violet she had been at the start of this journey, and looked right back at the elf. She had just been invisible for an entire, terrifying afternoon, and she never wished to be that again. Besides, Gloin had his portraits back, so now all she had to do was make sure the elf forgot about them. She spoke again once the portraits were tucked safely into Gloin's breast pocket.

"I mean really, here I thought elves were some sort of wise and noble race, and what do you do? You bully some poor old man about a family you're too cold or callous to ever have. It's kind of pathetic, really."

Fili, who had been cheekily passing off blade after blade (Firiel was ashamed to admit she knew every location on his person that one was hidden) to the elf in front of him, could not contain his snort. Or the look of pride that crossed his features. She received little nudges of encouragement from some of the others, but those were soon silenced when the elf drew back his bow, aiming his arrow right between her eyes. Fili, without thought, leapt in front of her, pushing her body behind him and producing yet another blade from some unknown location (probably his upper breast pocket inside his vest). At that, the arrogant creature smirked.

"If the halfling breaths another word," he said to the elf next to him in common tongue, "kill the blond dwarf."

If Firiel had thought making fun of Gloin's family had crossed a line, this probably crossed about fifty of them. He made a threat on her life to see who would rush to her rescue. Who she meant the most to. Who meant the most to her. Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide with panic, and the elf knew he had won. Fili waited until the elf had lower his bow before he moved again, passing off his knife to the elf who had been collection them before. He was far less cheeky now, and handed them over almost willingly. If he gave them too much trouble, he knew who they'd know to take it out on.

Firiel watched in silence as the blond elf and Kili's red-headed rescuer chatted. When the warrior smiled at him, Firiel's opinion of her immediately dropped. She obviously wasn't that great if she was friends with that man. When another elf presented their leader with Thorin's sword, the creature observed it with reverence, saying something in Elvish as he smiled mockingly at Thorin. His smile quickly fell though.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"It was given to me," Thorin told him.

At that, the blond elf pointed the sword's edge at Thorin's throat.

"Not just a thief, but a liar as well," the elf said.

He shouted an order in Elvish, and the company was soon shoved off through the woods. The elves prodded them along, leading them through the forest. Deeper and deeper they delved, until they came to a bridge that ran over watch. They were near a river, Firiel noted immediately. A great doorway seemed to spring from a rocky pass, and Firiel noted with mirth how it reminded her of pictures of a dwarf city. Wouldn't these elves love to know that?

After they had passed through the doorway, it was shut behind them, and they were herded on through the surprisingly bright halls. They soon came to a bridge (missing handrails), and were pushed along through a great chamber towards what appeared to be a much more central area. Firiel marveled at the architecture as an alternative to looking down. It was like they had built Rivendell underground. Thorin was separated from them, and soon they were led down into the underground, wandering on bridges that seemed to grow from the city itself.

Firiel was quick to realize that they were being lead down to the dungeons. It was a rather pretty dungeon, as far as dungeons went. It had fresh air and the river running just below the sheer drop that waited anyone who was shoved from the thin stairwells that passed before the cells. Firiel was given one final pat-down before she was shoved inside her cell. As they shut the door, she looked around and found that she could not see Fili or Bilbo anywhere. She could see Kili from across the way though, who was currently being shoved into his cell by his rescuer, whose name she still did not know. Firiel watched Kili stare after her as she walked away, and smiled in spite of herself. They were pretty cute together. The fact did not seem to please blondie, and that made Firiel smile even more.

When the elves had gone from their doors, she heard Dwalin giving great grunts and the sound of steal being banged. She soon heard from next to her, to her delight and relief, Fili, who was probably beating himself bloody against the cell door.

"Leave it!" Balin shouted, "This is no orc dungeon! These are the halls of the woodland realm. No one leaves here but by the king's consent."

Firiel heard a groan from next to her at that that made her all too certain it was Fili. She heard him start up at the door again stubbornly, crashing into it.

"Fili," she called out, "Fili, is that you?"

To her pleasure, the beating of body on steal stopped then, and she could almost picture him trying to take a look.

"Firiel?" Fili sounded as delighted as one could in this situation (and he was, for now he knew that she and his brother were safe), "Are you alright?"

"I am, but I'd be much better if you didn't beat yourself against that door," she said.

He chuckled, and she heard him sliding down the wall to probably sit on the floor. She soon joined him.

"Are you alright?" she asked him.

"I'm fine," he said, before calling out to his brother, "Kili! You alright?"

"Never better," Kili called back across the dungeon.

"Can you see my uncle?" Firiel shouted over to him.

Kili looked around, but soon shrugged, shaking his head. Firiel frowned.

"Uncle?" she called, "Has anyone seen Bilbo?"

"I'm afraid not, Lassie," she heard Bofur's voice ringing through the halls, "We all lost him back in the woods, I think."

"Do you think he's alright?" Firiel asked.

"I'm sure he's fine," she heard Dwalin say, and then he called out, "Thorin!"

Firiel looked up and saw two elves dragging Thorin down the steps. He was brought down to a cell on far side, a floor above Kili, and thrown in carelessly, the elf slamming and locking the cell door. Firiel noticed quickly that the guard was carrying a huge ring of keys. That would be a brilliant thing to steal from him if the opportunity every arose.

"Did he offer you a deal?" Balin asked Thorin.

"He did. And I told him he could go ishkachvey on dolnun!" Thorin replied, "Him and all his kin!"

"Ah, well, that's that then," Balin nodded, pleasantly peeved before frowning, "A deal was our only hope."

Balin had not seemed pleased the moment the Kazdul left Thorin's mouth, and Firiel couldn't contain her curiosity.

"What did he just say?" Firiel whispered to Fili.

"Something I am not at liberty to repeat,' he whispered back, "Least of all to a lady."

Firiel laughed at that.

"What lady?"

* * *

"Hey, do you want to play questions?"

Fili was a little stunned by the meekness in her voice, and the request which had come up in the silence of their imprisonment. What sort of game was she wanting play? Firiel felt her heart pounding. What a stupid idea! Why would he want to play questions?

"What do you mean?" he asked her, "What sort of game is called "questions"? How do you play?"

Firiel laughed, instantly a little relieved. He was really a very cute individual, she had to admit.

"You and I simply ask each other questions," she explained, "It's kind of a "getting to know you" thing more than a game, really. I know it's not much, but, if we're stuck here, we may as well get to know one another."

"But I already know you," he laughed from the other side of the wall.

"Yes, but how well do you know me?" Firiel asked him cheekily, "We can ask each other any kind of question we choose, and the other has to answer. You could ask me anything at all."

"Anything?"

The intrigue and excitement in his tone should have made her nervous, but if anything it made her excited. She could ask him anything. They could really get to know one another then.

"Alright," she heard Fili shifting into a probably more comfortable position as he spoke, "You first."

Firiel giddily pondered for a moment, but then a question came to her.

"Who taught you how to fight with two swords?" she started out.

"Balin," he replied easily, "He saw that I had my father's gait, and told Thorin it would be wise to teach me how to fight like him. It was a style that apparently suited my father well, and it came very naturally to me. He knew it better than Thorin, so he taught me what he could."

"Wow," she murmured, "What was your father like?"

"Hey," Fili cut across drolly, "It's my turn…Where were you born?"

"Bree," she replied, "In a little house not far from the market. I was the first of three children. …Where were you born?"

"In the Blue Mountains," he said, "My mother gave birth to me under a full summer moon, and she tells me it was one of the most beautiful nights she had ever witnessed."

They went back and forth for a while, asking each other light questions. Fili's favourite colour was blue, and Firiel had no favourite colour, though she had a weakness for bright ones. Kili was Fili's only sibling, and Firiel told him about the twins, Merion and Maude. Fili had wondered what on Earth possessed her parents to name her brother Merion. Or her sister Maude for that matter; especially after having given Firiel such a pretty name. And he told her that frankly. Fili's favourite food was probably his mother's meat pies, he told her. Firiel loved the taste of fresh strawberries (or any berries really) and cream with dark chocolate shavings.

"How many children do you want?" he asked.

"Two or three," Firiel didn't hesitate, "I'm capping it at three in my mind, but I feel, with the right person, I could have more. What about you?"

"I'm the same," he murmured, "I want to be a father someday. And raise my sons in Erebor."

"What if you have daughters?" Firiel asked him.

"Highly unlikely, given the way dwarvish blood runs," he told her, "My parents both came from families full of boys. My mother was the only woman born of our line in a hundred years.

"But I would love them just the same," he admitted, and she could hear the small smile that graced his handsome face, "And I'd pray they're as beautiful as their mother."

Firiel felt warmth in her heart as his words. As if he meant her. Hadn't she wanted to take this slow?

"Hm…What is the worst day of your life to date?"

Firiel gave pause at that. That had escalated quickly, she realized. But everything between the two of them seemed to. It was like a natural inclination to delve deeper into one another.

"I don't really think I have one," Firiel tried to evade.

"Oh, come on," Fili goaded, "Nothing? There wasn't a day on this whole quest that you could officially call your worst?"

"Actually, this quest has been wonderful," Firiel countered, "Probably the best days of my life."

"Well then if you know your best days, suddenly your worst become a lot easier to think of," Fili said wisely.

Firiel could almost see him playing with the bandage wrapped around his hand, given that he had nothing else to play with.

"Well, I think the worst day of my whole like would have to be the day my father arranged for me to marry someone I've never even met," she said.

It was Fili's turn to pause. What had she just said? She was getting married? He felt his world cave in around him a bit, but then it stopped. She had literally just cited it as the worst day of her life.

"What happened?" he asked her.

"Well, my father came home from the market one day," Firiel started, "He was unusually excited, so I asked him what had happened that was so special.

"He told me that he had just met the loveliest young man in town, and that this man had been looking for a wife," Firiel snorted a bit, "Of course he also went on to great length about how wealthy this man was. How charming and handsome and well-educated.

"My father said that he offered to support his trade routes fully and give him half-price off some dwarvish tools if he gave him one of his daughters to marry, and my sister Maude was far too young, so…" her voice broke a little, "So my father said that I would marry him. He sold me, like livestock."

Silence took hold between them, and it was heartbreaking. Fili could feel the weight of her sadness crushing her, and him by extension. The part about the dwarvish tools unnerved him. He knew that man. That man wasn't charming or handsome at all. He had money, and that was about it. He was fat and greedy and a chauvinistic pig and Fili knew this because he'd sold him those tools. His first trade transaction in the Shire had been trading those tools to that grubby little merchant scum. And her own father had sold her for them. He felt a little bit sick.

"And, what's worse, no one said anything about it," she ranted, though it was wounded ranting, "They were all so thrilled! My mother told him he had made the business deal of the century. My own mother! It was like all my life they had been waiting for the day someone would buy me! And God forbid I be insulted! God forbid I be sad, or hurt! Or...!"

A delicate sniffle made Fili curse under his breath. Why did she have to cry when he couldn't hold her? Firiel was wiping tears from her eyes, trying desperately not to get so emotional. She managed to calm her breathing down a bit, and Fili saw that this was a good opportunity to try and steer her towards something less emotionally damaging than he relationship with her immediate family clearly was.

"Is that why you were living with Bilbo?" he asked her, thinking that speaking of her uncle might help.

"Yes," she muttered, and he just knew she was biting her lip and rubbing her nose, "I asked my uncle to take me in because I had nowhere else to go. I couldn't stay and marry someone I didn't love. I had to get away."

Fili wanted to say something more to her, but was interrupted by the sound of the dungeon door opening. He and Firiel both looks about, and soon they saw the she-elf, Kili's beloved rescuer, was doing her rounds, peaking about in the cells. She paused at Kili's cell, and Firiel watched as she actually stopped to talk to him. She heard her name finally. It was Tauriel.

Firiel smiled as she watched Kili and Tauriel whispered to one another in the night time, her earlier sadness melting away as she looked up at them. She couldn't hear a word they were saying, but they were smiling, and that was good enough for her. She watched as Kili gave her a smile so genuine that she had sworn her eyes were playing tricks on her. The dwarf was in love. She heard Fili give a little grunt as Kili paid Tauriel a rather flourishing compliment (she guessed) and giggled.

"Oh stop it," Firiel whispered to him, "I think they're cute together."

"Really?" was his unamused reply, although he was very happy to hear her sounding cheerful again, "We're really doing this right now?"

"Well, I'm just saying," Fili could hear the devilish grin in her voice, "Look at the way he looks at her. Have you ever looked at someone like that?"

Fili, who had been refusing to really pay that much attention, finally did look at his brother. Kili looked smitten with the elf maid. More than smitten. It was like she was the only creature in the universe he was ever really meant to see. Like she was beautiful enough for him to never really see another woman as more attractive than she was, standing there in the moonlight. Like nothing could ever live up to spending his every waking moment with her. Though he could not see the elf maid's eyes, he had an inkling she was showing some similar signs of affection. The sound of Firiel shifting around made him smile a bit. He had definitely looked at someone like that before.

"Alright," he murmured as the elf maid took her leave, "Maybe you're right."

Firiel noised her satisfaction incoherently with a yawn. It was dark, and it had been for a few hours now. He could hear the soft snoring of the others, and watched his brother wave at him. Fili waved back and Kili rolled over, probably off to sleep. He could hear Firiel shuffling around.

"I'm afraid I'm fading away pretty fast," she admitted sleepily, "I think I'm going to try and get a little bit of a rest in."

"That's a good plan," he smiled, "I guess I'll talk to you again in the morning, since we're clearly not going anywhere."

"I guess so," Firiel chuckled a bit, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Fili listened intently as Firiel shifted around even more, probably laying curled on her side, and soon only the sound of her soft breathing could be heard. Fili chuckled, wishing he could lie down with her right now. Or at least see her. He found his mind unwillingly wondering to the way Firiel had looked riding him in the moonlight when they had stopped to rest in Beorn's cottage. Her hair falling gracefully around her; her big, beautiful breasts rising and falling with every sharp gasp and silently-screaming moan she gave as they had moved together. The way the fine muscles in her neck had stretched as she offered him her delicate throat. The way she had trembled, her whole body shaking in pleasure. Her enthusiasm was the biggest turn-on though. The way she'd cried out unexpectedly, and how eagerly she had wanted to get on top. The excitement in her eyes when she had looked at him. By the gods, her eyes! Those gorgeous eyes had turned to hungry, lusty, and gloriously affectionate and trusting depths that he had almost drowned in. They were so open and honest, conveying her every emotion and sharing it with him. She had wanted him as badly as he had wanted her. The thought sent chills all throughout his body.

She'd had only one lover before him. He had to admit he was jealous of this unfriendly-sounding boy, even if he was an absolute fool for ever mistreating her. It didn't matter though. He'd make sure she never wanted anyone else ever again. This fiancé her father had sold her to? He was no threat. But if he ever came looking, Fili would send him off without argue. What match was a portly hobbit merchant for a dwarven warrior? And besides, if he ever tried to stake any claim, Firiel would do a pretty fine job of sending the bastard packing. In fact, he thought with pride, he wouldn't have to do any of the beating at all. His little warrior queen would never allow someone to have her in any way that she did not want.

The memory of her peachy nipples growing hard when he even so much as brushed them, much less pinched them or pulled at them with his teeth (he still remembered the sound of her delightful cry) was more than enough to make him grow hard and ache with a need only she could fulfill. He felt like a man possessed. He had tasted her, and now, in the calm of night, he craved her with an insatiable hunger. Neither of them had even climaxed and still it felt like this. Nothing he had ever felt could compare to this fiery lust. He had wanted women before, but never had one driven him so mad with need.

She moaned in her sleep, and he moaned at the sound, biting his lip and loftily stroking himself. He tried to imagine that it was her bold and curious little hands that were grasping him and pumping him, and felt his release building at an alarming rate. He could already feel the inklings of an emptiness building up with it. Perhaps it wouldn't be nearly so shocking when he finished, and there was no way he could stop now.

In his mind, she was about to take him in her mouth, licking her soft pink lips as she came closer. Hotter and hotter, faster and faster. Though he did not truly know the feeling yet, he tried to imagine that he was pounding into her, feeling the tightness of her body and hearing her cry out in ecstasy. She was riding him now, and she was touching herself too, biting her lip occasionally to break apart that perfect "o" they seemed to form as she rode him. She was soon shaking and crying out with a powerful orgasm, her hands clawing into his chest as her inner walls clamped around him, pulling him in deeper with every wave of her orgasm. His hands were then holding on to her pretty shoulders as he rammed his hips up into her body, relishing in the delighted sobs of pleasure that came out of her mouth. She was breathing his name, whispering it like a prayer and screaming it like a song. Gods, he was so close. She whispered that she was going to cum.

Bam! He climaxed so hard he thought he was going to bite a hole through his lip, but his body seemed to be of different parts. Whereas his loins exploded with heat and his mind went foggy with pleasure, his heart felt as though something had ripped it out. Pulled it right from his chest and left a great, gaping hole there. He felt cold and unsatisfied, and growled in frustration. What good was pleasure if she wasn't getting any? What was release if he had not satisfied her? When Firiel muttered something cutely in her sleep from the next cell, his empty chest ached longingly. It was almost as if his heart had ripped itself out and crawled into her back pocket just to delight in her everything. It was like he would remain an empty shell without her presence.

He flopped down onto the floor with a grouchy grunt, and stared up at the ceiling of his limestone cell. He could hear her breathing from right next to him, and knew that the two of them being put next to one another was no accident. These elves, ever ancient, had known exactly when they were doing. How mad it would drive at least one of them. It was agony to him; she was right there.

It was even more agonizing when he noticed how shallow her breathing was becoming. Like she was running. Soft, frightened cries and muttered protests told him she was having a nightmare. About the spiders they had faced in Mirkwood. She gave an agonized moan in her sleep, crying out for him.

"Fili," he heard her murmuring, "Fili, help me...!"

Fili cursed the wall, banging his fist against it.

"Firiel," he called to her softly, sitting up to press his forehead against the wall,"It's alright. It's alright, I'm here."

"Unbearable, isn't it?"

Fili looked out his door and saw the blond elf who had threatened him and Firiel standing at his cell door. He had clearly heard that someone was awake, and come to torment him. He heard Firiel's breathing evening out, and found he could relax a bit. Her terror had clearly passed.

"To not be able to hold the woman you love in her time of need must truly be agonizing," the elf sneered in at him.

"Go away," Fili muttered, flopping his head back down on the floor, "It's already bad enough I can't hold her; now I have to look at your ugly face? Get out of my sight."

The elf gave him a look of pure hatred, sticking his face right up against the cell door.

"Do not forget your position, dwarf," the elf spat with hatred, "I hold your wife and brother in my hands, and my rank here is higher than you would care to know. If I so desired, you would watch has I peeled the flesh from their bones and fed them to the spiders."

Fili glared up at the elf, not bothering to correct him, and found his own eyes were soon clouded with hatred.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Legolas Greenleaf," the elf straightened to announce arrogantly, "Prince of Mirkwood."

Fili sneered at the elf, which caused the creature to lose some of its bravado. Good. He stood, and walked right up to his door to glare at the old yet childish creature.

"Hear me now, Legolas Greenleaf," Fili stated, his tongue poison in his mouth, "I am Fili, son of Dis. And if you lay one finger on them, I promise you, my sons will know your name. And their sons after. And should you ever come across my kin, they will know you, and strike you dead. Do not test me."

"Such empty threats," the elf tossed it aside.

"My threats are no more empty than my cell," Fili spat, "A dwarf swears loyalty to his mother before any creature on this earth. My sons will not take kindly to an elf who threatened theirs. Tell me, what would yours think if she could see you right now?"

At that, Legolas gave pause, his eyes clouding bleakly. Fili spat on the ground in front of the elf and turned, stalking back into the shadows of his cell. When Fili looked up, he saw that the elf was gone. He thought nothing of it after a moment, and instead placed his ear against the wall, remaining alert in case his beloved had another nightmare.


	13. Chapter 13

Fili didn't sleep a wink that night, staring out of his cell and listening intently to Firiel's breathing, pleased to find that she had no more bad dreams. Light was starting to filter into his cell, and he shifted, trying to relieve his aching and numb bottom.

"Must be nearly dawn," Fili heard Bofur call out.

He stood, heading towards the door to look out. Bofur was right, and dawn was coming up over the horizon.

"We're never gonna reach the mountain, are we?" Ori asked glumly.

At the thought, he fell back against the wall with a sigh. But then he saw something that made his heart feel light. Bilbo Baggins was at Thorin's cell, a giant key ring in his hand.

"Firiel," Fili called gently against the wall, "Firiel, wake up!"

Firiel stirred in the next cell, and looked around. She suddenly remembered where she was and sat up, thoroughly displeased. Why had Fili woken her up?

"What is it?" she grumbled back.

"Look!"

Firiel looked out her cell door, and understood immediately why he had woken her. Bilbo was unlocking the door to Thorin's cell door. She leapt to her feet and rushed to the door.

"Uncle!" she called.

Bilbo smiled back at her and put a finger to his lips. But the others were soon up, crying out in joy and amazement. Their burglar had come through for them, and they were going to be free of this place.

"SHHH!" Bilbo whisper shouted, "There are guards nearby!"

And so they all shushed one another, and Firiel gave a little laugh. Thorin and Balin were the first to be freed, and soon Bilbo was rushing along the walls, pulling open door after door as the dwarves strode out into the early morning. When he opened Firiel's door, she leapt into her uncles arms, wrapping her own around his neck in a tight hug. Bilbo chuckled a bit, rubbing her back.

"It's alright," she could hear his smile, "I'm here."

She pulled back to look at her uncle, and noticed something on his back.

"You have my pack!" Firiel whispered in amazement, pulling it from his shoulders, "How did you get it?"

She checked her pack and rummaged through it. Everything seemed to be there. She checked around in the side pocket for Beorn's seeds, and found they were still in place, totally unharmed. She checked her other pockets as Bilbo spoke.

"I pulled it up from the pile of things they left in the woods," Bilbo told her, "Worry not, your knife is in there as well. I managed to throw it in. I'm afraid I couldn't salvage your sword though, or I would have lost you all."

"That's alright," Firiel assured him, breathing a sigh of relief when she found her knife, tucked in a hidden inside pouch, "You brought everything that matters."

Fili's arms were the ones she found next. Bilbo watched them with a small smile as Firiel buried her face into Fili's chest, grasping the back of his vest and pulling him tight to her. Fili held her just as fiercely, their bodies totally aligned, and she sighed in contentment. Fili felt his emptiness from the night before slipping away as she was pressed against him. He breathed in the scent of her hair, and saw Thorin glaring at them from above Firiel's head. Fili simply elected to ignore him, and pulled back from her, catching her face in his hands and looking into her eye. Firiel placed her hands atop his own, stroking them gently.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yes," Firiel smiled gently, "I'm fine. Are you?"

"Never better," he grinned.

He almost kissed her then. But they had more important things to worry about. He could show her his affections once they were out of danger.

Soon they were headed towards the hall, Dwalin and Thorin shepherding them out of the dungeon. Bilbo took off in another direction, delving deeper into the elven pits.

"Not that way," he called back quietly, "Follow me."

Firiel didn't even have to look to know she had grabbed Fili and Kili's hands, and pulled them down after her uncle. The others were a bit more hesitant, but followed anyways. They tiptoed down the branching bridges, deeper into the rock. When they reached the bottom, Firiel started at the sight of two elves, and the whole company stopped. They relaxed immediately when they saw that the elves were sat at a table, completely passed out and snoring loudly. She looked around, and saw that they must have been in the wine cellar. There were bottles stacked up against the walls, and a great pile of barrels on the floor.

"This way," Bilbo whispered, leading them on.

The dwarves came down the stairs and stopped at the bottom, looking around.

"Don't stop-."

"We're in the cellars," Kili whispered harshly.

"You're supposed to be leading us out, not further in," Bofur agreed.

"I know what I'm doing! SHHH!" Bilbo snapped back, "Now go."

Her uncle was motioning them towards the barrels, and Firiel suddenly had an inkling as to what Bilbo's plan was. And it was brilliant.

A shout was heard from above. The elves knew they were loose.

"Everyone, climb into the barrels," Bilbo told them, "Quickly!"

"Are you mad?" Dwalin asked him, "They'll find us!"

"No, no, they won't. I promise," Bilbo assured him, though he grew more frustrated the longer Dwalin stood there, "Please, please you must trust me!"

The dwarves looked to protest, but turned to one another in disbelief. Bilbo looked around helplessly until his eyes landed on Thorin. He shot the king a look, and Thorin turned on his company. They reminded her briefly of an old married couple trying to ring in their eleven children.

"Do as he says," the king spat.

Suddenly the idea seemed to sit well with the company, and they took off towards the barrels. Firiel helped to load the others in, and stopped short once all but her and Bilbo were loaded. There were only twelve barrels, and she looked around in panic. She and Bilbo clearly had the same thought, and looked at one another in panic. Bilbo looked down around and made eye contact with Fili. The prince knew, and motioned Firiel down to him, helping her climb in right-side up. But what about Bilbo? Firiel and the others poked their heads out to look at him.

"Now what do we do?" Bofur asked him.

"Hold your breath," was Bilbo's reply.

"Hold our breath?" she asked him.

At that, Bilbo turned and pushed on a leaver that was poking up from the floor. The entire floor tipped upwards, and everyone gasped at it. Suddenly, they began rolling downwards. Firiel tried to watch, but Fili pulled her down into the barrel as they rolled. Suddenly, she heard splashing occurring just in front of her, and Firiel understood. They were going to travel out of Mirkwood down a river way. She managed to gulp in some air just and she and Fili were plunged into the frigid water. They came up and poked their heads out. Thorin was at the front, holding their barrels together as Dwalin and Balin held the walls. Now where was Bilbo? No sooner than the thought crossed her mind did she hear the sound of Bilbo screaming, followed by a large splash. She looked back and saw her uncle coming up for air, Nori grabbing him to pull his hands onto the barrel.

"Well done, Master Baggins," Thorin panted from the front, before turning them to paddle forwards, "Come on, let's go!"

Down the little canal they paddled, the water pushing them forwards and eventually out of the woodland city. She saw a light at the end, but heard Thorin give a mighty holler.

"HOLD ON!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Firiel feel herself dropping. They came down a small waterfall and landed in a river, miraculously right-side up. Firiel coughed and sputtered as she tried to wipe the water from her eyes. She when she opened her eyes, she saw that Fili was equally drowned. She laughed a bit at his face, and pulled some of his wet locks from his face. There was no time for relief though, for Firiel soon found she was knocked against the side of the barrel. She looked and saw they were heading downhill, over rushing rapids. She looked around and saw Bilbo, barely keeping his head above water. Fili's eyes followed her own, and they watched in horror as Bilbo ducked dangerously above and below the water.

"Bilbo!" Fili called.

Firiel opened her mouth, but soon they were knocked to the side, and Firiel's ribs cracked painfully against the side of the barrel. She screamed, and Fili grabbed hold of her, pulling her tightly to him. He felt the barrel crack against his own ribs, but he knew he was built much sturdier than she was. Suddenly, a horn sounded through the air. Firiel looked back, and saw the elves were heading towards them. She looked back ahead and saw a flood gate, which was quickly being shut. The dwarves were shouting, paddling forwards as quickly as they could. But it was too late.

"No!" Thorin cried, shoving against the floodgate.

They all piled up against the gate, and the elven soldiers drew their swords. Their plans, whatever they were, were quickly interrupted as a black arrow pierced one of them in the shoulder. The soldier fell down dead. To her absolute horror, an orc pulled itself over the wall, growling at them.

"Watch out!" Bilbo called as the elf soldier tumbled down into the water.

From the back of the barrel pile, she, Fili, and Kili could see everything as the orcs began to climb over the wall, cutting down the armored elves like they were paper dolls. Soon, orcs were descending from the heels around them too, and the elves were quickly becoming outnumbered. The orcs dove down into the water, attacking the company. An orc dove down on top of her and Fili's barrel, landing overtop of them. She and Fili ducked down into their barrel, and Firiel pulled her pack off her shoulders quickly. She grabbed out her hunting knife as Fili wrestled with the orc, and she stabbed their attacker. Another one came up from their other side, and Firiel blocked its blade as best she could. Fili turned around and socked the orc between the eyes, pulling the blade from its hands as Firiel stabbed the orc up in the jaw. Fili turned and knew the blade he had grabbed, and Firiel saw that Kili was out of the water, heading up slowly towards the leaver. Kili was about to pull down the leaver, but an arrow piercing his leg stopped him.

"Kili!" Fili shouted.

Kili tried to pull on the leaver, but the arrow was causing him so much agony that he could barely move. He fell down on his back, crying out in pain. Firiel looked around for some way to get to him, absolutely panicked. She saw that the ledge was right above her and jumped for it, but she was too short. She looked to Fili.

"Give me a boost!" she yelled.

"What?"

An orc was fast approaching Kili, and she knew that they didn't have the time to talk about it.

"Hurry!"

She grabbed hold of Fili's shoulders and started to climb him, Fili helping her. Once her feet were on the rim of their barrel, Firiel jumped up, grabbing hold of the ledge and pulling herself upwards. As she managed to put her elbows on the stone, she saw the orc dashing towards Kili take an arrow to the chest. She looked back, and, so her pleasant surprise and excitement, she saw Tauriel racing towards them. She fired on another orc that came towards them, and soon began to fight the ones that surrounded her. The orcs began to decend on her, and soon, more elves emerged from the forest (their blond friend included), shooting the orcs through their skulls. It seemed, as much as everyone disliked dwarves, they always hated orcs more.

Firiel grinned before scrambling up fully and checking on Kili. Other than the arrow protruding from his body, he looked relatively alright. Just a bit pale. Firiel wasted no time leaping to her feet, and she grabbed hold of the leaver, tugging it down with all her weight. She heard the gate creaking open and rushed back to Kili, grabbing him under his armpits and pulling him to his feet. She looked over the ledge and saw that Fili had grabbed Kili's barrel, holding it ahead for his brother. Firiel helped Kili step off the ledge, and he fell into his barrel, the arrow snapping off painfully. She had no time to dwell on it though, and dropped down into her and Fili's barrel.

They rushed through the flood gate and down the river, the orcs chasing after them. Kili looked white as a sheet. The plummeted through the water and down many short falls, orc archers shooting at their barrels. Fili pushed Firiel down inside their barrel once again, and an arrow pierced the wood, nearly hitting her in the eye. She cut the head off with her knife quickly in order to avoid being thrown into it. They continued down the rapids, fighting off orcs as they went. The elves soon sped down the river banks after them, killing any orcs they could see, but soon the company sped past them. Tauriel and Legolas were in the lead, nearly shepherding them down the river. Fili managed to get hold of a sword that was tossed back to him from Thorin, and kept it with him, slashing at their passing enemies. After a few minutes, it was just getting ridiculous. She wondered how many orcs had been brought just to kill them. Though, as they managed their way down the river, she could see why they had thought they needed too many.

As they came down the mountain, Legolas leapt out to stand on Bifur and Dwalin's heads, shooting at the orcs that surrounded them. His eyes met Fili's briefly, and the two begrudgingly nodded to one another. If Legolas was helping them, that was all the mattered. The elf rode their heads for a while before speeding off onto the ridges again, attacking more orcs as he found them. Soon be bounced back across their heads though, and was on the other side of the river going after those orcs. Firiel was impressed, even if he was a creep. An orc reared up behind Legolas, and Thorin threw an ax, killing the creature. Legolas looked more insulted by the action than anything, and glared at Thorin as they continued down the river.

She noticed then that the elves had stopped following them, and the orcs continued to chase them down the river. However, the creatures were not nearly as fast as this force of nature, and the company soon found themselves far ahead of their pursuers.

* * *

The company finally came upon a point where the river steadied out and flowed gently onwards by a rocky bank. And they were exhausted. Thorin was paddling along with a stick, while the rest of them used their arms. Fili and Firiel took turns paddling their barrel, both cold and wet and panting.

"Anything behind us?" Thorin called.

"Not that I can see," Balin yelled up from the back.

Bofur popped up out of his barrel, spitting water out of his mouth. Firiel pulled her pack up from the bottom of their barrel and put it over her shoulders. She knew she notebook would be totally ruined, but hopefully her other belongings would be alright.

"I think we've finally lost the orcs," Bofur said.

"Not for long," Thorin snapped, "Now that we've lost the current. Make for the shore!"

Firiel looked over and saw Kili was already paddling along to the water's edge. She and Fili lined up alongside one another and pulled themselves through the water with great speed. They made a pretty good team, Firiel had to admit. The others were with them, and pulled themselves out of their barrels and onto the rocks with shouts and curses. Fili pulled himself out of their barrel, and then reached down for Firiel. Firiel took his arms and jumped, helping him to pull her out. Her legs trembled a bit, but Fili had her, so she wasn't going anywhere.

Suddenly, Kili cried out in agony and fell to his knees, clutching his wound. Firiel and Fili took off for him. When they reached him, Kili had a cloth to his bloody knee, dabbing it and grunting in pain. Firiel tried to bat his hand away to look, but Kili wouldn't allow it. Bofur looked on with concern.

"I'm fine," Kili muttered to them.

"Liar," Firiel shot back as Fili pulled his brother's hand away.

Kili's leg looked terrible. The flesh around the wound looked like it had been burnt, and he was covered in blood. Firiel grabbed at the end of her shawl and ripped it off, pressing it to Kili's wound. He needed treatment, and he needed it now. Fili straightened out Kili's leg, and Firiel dug into her pack for that other set of bandages she had. Just as she pulled them from her pack, Thorin was on their case.

"Come on, on your feet," Thorin ordered them as he passed by.

"Kili's wounded," Fili told him insistently, not taking his eyes off his brother, "His leg needs binding."

"There's an orc pack on our tail," Thorin snapped, "We keep moving."

"Are you deaf?" Firiel glowered and muttered under hear breath.

Thorin didn't miss her insubordinate muttering and glared down at her. Fili took the bandages from her and began to wind them around Kili's leg, getting Firiel to put pressure on his wound as the others conversed about their destination.

"To where?" Balin asked Thorin.

"To the mountain," Bilbo said, now up on the rocks and shivering, "We're so close."

"A lake lies between us and that mountain," Balin sighed, "We have no way to cross it."

"And sure as daylight, we've no weapons to defend ourselves," Dwalin added.

"Bind his leg, quickly," Thorin ordered Firiel and Fili, as if they we're already doing it, "You have two minutes."

Well, wasn't Thorin just the picture of familial love and tenderness? But they both knew him to be right and took to binding Kili up with even greater speed. Just as they finished binding Kili, she and Fili heard the thwap of an arrow piercing wood. They and the whole company looked up to see the figure of a man who had just shot an arrow at Dwalin, hitting a large stick the dwarf had been using for a weapon, and all jumped to their feet. Kili grabbed up a rock and moved to throw it at him, but the man was faster and shot the rock from Kili's hand precisely, drawing back another arrow before anyone else could move.

"Do it again, and you're dead," the man threatened.

Firiel and her friends were clearly not too bothered by this statement. Why would they be? This was becoming a pretty regular occurrence for all of them. Firiel looked the man over, and saw that he was dressed in a ratty brown cloak, with a handsome face and a short beard. He was handsome enough to be a human version of Kili.

"Excuse me," Balin said, making his way slowly towards him, "But you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken."

The bowman trained his arrow on Balin, who raised his hands above his head and stopped immediately in his tracks.

"That barge over there," Balin continued, "It wouldn't be available for hire by any chance?"

Firiel looked just down the way and saw what Balin was talking about. They had just found a boat with which to cross the lake. It was tied up to what appeared to be a stone dock. The bowman looked back and forth between Balin and his boat, lowering his bow as he looked out amongst them. They were drowned, nearly clothing-less, unarmed. Firiel took hold of Fili's hand, and the bowman's eyes trailed down to them briefly before he took off towards the boat. They all looked to one another before chasing after him. They needed his help.

Firiel saw that he was loading barrels into the boat. The very barrels that they had just let go down the river, actually. The man stepped into his boat, looking cross at their very question. Balin was stood up by the boat while she and the others hung back.

"And what makes you think I would help you?" the bargeman demanded, grabbing barrel after barrel and loading them into his boat.

"Well, you're boots have seen better days," Balin told him good-naturedly, "As has that coat. No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed."

The bargeman looked up at Balin, and went back to his work, trying to ignore him. Balin, smiling ever so sweetly, would not be ignored.

"How many bairns?' Balin asked him.

At that the man stopped to face them, and Firiel saw him almost give a smile before his face went serious again.

"Boy and two girls," he said, pulling another barrel towards the boat.

"And you're wife, I imagine, is a beauty," Balin continued.

At that, the bargeman stopped what he was doing. Firiel saw a look pass over him that she had seen in Beorn not so long ago. Inconsolable grief. He turned from them to stare out across the lake.

"Aye," he murmured softly, "She was."

He turned his eyes back to them, and Firiel saw it. The man looked as though he might break, even though he seemed to smile at the memory of her. Firiel felt his sadness well up in her heart. His eyes trailed over her and Fili briefly, their joined hands, and he suddenly looked away quite abruptly.

"I'm sorry," Balin said sincerely, "I didn't mean to-."

"Oh, come on, enough of the nicety-niceties," Dwalin grumbled, turning towards the bargeman.

At that, their prospective ride looked suspicious.

"What's your hurry?" he asked them.

"What's it to you?" Oin asked him.

"I would like to know who you are," the man said, coming back to look down at Balin, "And what you are doing in these lands."

Balin had them covered, and came up with a lie on the spot. The old man was much more clever than he seemed, Firiel noted.

"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains," Balin told him jovially, "Journeying to see our kind in the Iron Hills."

The bowman smiled at them, and Firiel could see in an instant he didn't buy it. Even if, from her angle, Balin was an exceptional liar.

"Simple merchants, you say?" he was amused, turning to put the last barrel on his ship.

"We need food, supplies, weapons," Thorin came forwards, "Can you help us?"

The bargeman looked down at the barrels, running his hands along the broken and splintered wood.

"I know where these barrels came from," he said.

"What of it?" Thorin asked.

"I don't know what business you had with the elves," the bargeman looked at them, wandering closer to Thorin with a smile, "But I don't think it ended well.

"No one enters Laketown but by leave of the master," he continued, grabbing up his rope from the dock, "All his trade comes from the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."

At that, the bargeman tossed the rope at Balin for emphasis. Balin and Thorin looked at one another, having an almost silent conversation before Balin turned back towards the bowman.

"I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen," he called over to the man.

"Aye," the man replied, heading towards the front of his boat, "And for that, you'd need a smuggler."

"For which we would pay," Balin ran up to say in the man's ear, "Double."

Well, how could anyone refuse that?

Soon, they were boarding the little boat, helping their host to push off. He stood by the back at the rudder, and steered them off expertly. Firiel was sat back on the small deck near the rudder, her uncle sat beside her. She was highly impressed by the bowman's skill. And she told the man so.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at her for a moment before looking off straight ahead, "It's not so tough once you get used to it."

"Well, still, it's much more than I could do…Thank you, by the way," Firiel told him suddenly, "I know they're a little hard on the head sometimes, but I can assure you that these men are all lovely people once you get to know them."

The bargeman smirked at that.

"I'll take your word for it," he said absently.

"…I'm Firiel, by the way," she said after a moment, "And this is my Uncle Bilbo."

"How do you do?" Bilbo asked him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the bowman nodded.

"And it is a pleasure to meet you as well," Bilbo said, ever so polite with strangers as always, "Though I'm afraid I don't know your name. What would you like us to call you?"

"Bard," was the bargeman's reply, "My name is Bard."

* * *

Their boat moved slowly through the calm waters, drifting quietly through the fog. Ice could be seen floating in the frigid waters, and Firiel pondered when the temperature had changed so drastically. She could not see anything through the fog as they drifted onwards, but the bargeman knew where they were going, it seemed. Firiel sat at the bow of the boat with most of the company as they counted Bard's pay, curled up tightly against Fili's side, trying to steal some of his body heat. He supplied her with it happily though, keeping her nestled in tightly with his arm around her waist as she shivered from the cold. To Fili's relief, Thorin was too worried about their driver to glare at them for their closeness.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, great rocks burst forth from the fog, shooting up out of the waters.

"Watch out!" Bofur cried.

But there was no need to panic. Bard was quick to evade the rocks, and steady as anything. Firiel knew he had travelled this path a hundred times before, at least. She looked closer and saw that these were not rocks, but ruins. As if the town they were heading to had once spanned out over the lake.

"What are you trying to do? Drown us?" Thorin asked the bargeman.

"I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf," Bard graveled out, "If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here."

Firiel snorted. How did they keep meeting all of these lovely yet shady characters who seemed to hate dwarves? She knew she had signed up for a life-threatening quest, but this was getting a little excessive. Wasn't a fire-breathing dragon supposed to be the danger here? Not the whole damn road-trip?

"I've had enough of this lippy bastard," Dwalin growled, "I say we throw him over the side-."

"Bard," Bilbo cut him off, irritated, "His name's Bard."

"How do you know?" Bofur asked.

"Uh, I asked him," Bilbo sassed right back.

"I don't care what he calls himself," Dwalin muttered, looking back over the barrels at him, "I don't like him."

"We don't have to like him," Balin said as he divided and counted coins on a small crate, "We simply have to pay him.

"Come on now, lads," he looked around at the company skeptically, "Turn out your pockets."

The dwarves all grumbled, pulling out a few pieces of silver here and there. Firiel had no money, and felt bad that she couldn't contribute, especially when Balin frowned as he finished counting.

"We have a problem," Balin told them, "We're ten coins short."

That was no good. They had promised Bard double his fee, and that was thirty pieces of silver. Firiel didn't know how these dwarves still had all this money on them, after losing their things so many times. Thorin sighed and crossed his arms.

"Gloin" he said, looking knowingly at the dwarf, "Come on. Give us all you have."

"Don't look to me," Gloin looked back wide-eyed and insulted, "I have been bled dry by this venture!"

Thorin rolled his eyes, and the others all gave Gloin a look. But soon their eyes turned elsewhere, and they stood at what their eyes fell upon. Firiel followed their gaze and stood up as well.

"What have I seen for my investment?" Gloin rambled on, "Not but misery, and grief, and-."

"Shh," Firiel shushed him, "Look."

Through the mists, Firiel and the others could see it clear as day. Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, stood out through the fog. It was a sight to behold, and she felt herself overcome with emotion. She found Fili's hand and took it in her own, giving him a gentle sqeaze. He returned it passionately, and they gazed at one another briefly before looking back out at it. They were almost there. It seemed Gloin was overcome as well.

"Here, take it," the dwarf said, shoving a purse into Balin's hands, "Take all of it."

At that, Firiel heard Bilbo clearing his throat. She looked at him, and Bilbo motioned his head behind. She looked and saw Bard stomping his way towards them.

"Give me the money," he ordered them, "Quickly, do it now!"

"We will give you the money once we get our supplies," Thorin told him calmly.

"If you value your freedom, you'll do as I say," Bard shot back.

His eyes were wide and panicked. It wasn't the type of gaze to go with a threat. He looked up.

"There are guards ahead," he whispered.

Firiel could hear their shouting soon, and felt panic surge through her. She didn't even know where they were going, and they were going to be caught again. The company all turned to look, and, just through the mists, she could see docks and a gate emerging. Soon the whole town was in view. There were more ruins surrounding it, and it looked as bleak as anything. Without hesitation, Thorin nodded, and Balin gathered up the coins, handing them over to Bard. The bowman didn't even bother to count them before stowing them.

"Into the barrels," he ordered them, "Quickly."

Nobody asked any questions, for the water was carrying them forward with great haste. Fili helped Firiel into a barrel, but he did not join her this time. Instead, he urged Bilbo down inside with her. She and her uncle curled up together at the bottom of their barrel. It made the most sense for the two of them to share, given that they were the smallest. Fili took her hand for a moment before disappearing from her sight. It was going to be alright. Everything was going to be fine.

She felt the boat come to a halt, and a long pause took hold. There was a small hole in their barrel, so Bilbo took a peek out through it. Where were they and why were they stopping?

"What's he doing?" she heard Dwalin whisper.

"He's talking to someone," Bilbo relayed, "He's….pointing right at us."

At that, Bilbo moved back from their little porthole and he and Firiel pushed back against the edges of the barrel. Bilbo waited a moment before sticking his head back to the hole.

"Now their shaking hands," he whispered.

"What?" she heard Thorin snarl; seems he was right next to them.

"He's selling us out," Dwalin's voice came again.

No sooner had the words left Dwalin's mouth did something hit Firiel on the head. She looked down at the bottom of the barrel and nearly scowled. It was a fish. Soon, a whole load of fish came piling down onto their heads. Slimy silver trout covered her and Bilbo, and Firiel could no longer see her uncle. At least the fish was fresh, so it didn't smell. But it sure didn't feel pleasant either. She could feel her knees up against Bilbo's, and that was the only thing that wasn't scaly of slimy that she could feel. It was disgusting.

Once they were off again, Firiel could hear her companions grumbling and groaning in disgust. The sounds of bells and children shouting soon joined the gulls that squawked through the air. She suddenly heard a thwunk against one of the barrels.

"Quiet!" Bard snapped lowly, "We're approaching the toll gate."

They floated on a bit more before she heard another voice.

"Halt!" it cried, "Goods inspection! Papers please! ….Oh, it's you, Bard."

"Morning, Percy."

"Anything to declare?"

"Nothing, but I am cold, and tired, and ready for home."

"You and me both," she heard Percy nearly sigh.

This was almost too easy. It seemed that luck was finally on their side.

"Here we are. All in order."

"Not. So. Fast!" a new voice, ratty and snakelike, came to Firiel's ear, "Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only, they're not empty…are they, Bard?"

Firiel heard the new arrival clump down onto the deck, and inhaled sharply. So much for good luck.

"If I recall correctly, you're licenced as a bargeman," the voice continued, "Not a fisherman."

"That's none of your business," Bard said.

"Wrong," the man said, "It's the master's business. Which makes it my business."

"Oh come on, Alfred. Have a heart. People need to eat!" Bard was clearly losing his patience.

"These fish are illegal," the man, Alfred, said, before Firiel heard a splash, "Empty the barrels over the side."

"You heard him. In the canal."

_Oh no._

Soon, new pairs of footsteps were on the deck, and Firiel could hear the sound of the barrels being pushed about. That's it. They were doomed.

"Folcen, this town is struggling," she heard Bard beginning to plea, "Times are hard. Food is scarce."

"Not my problem," Alfred chimed like the scum he was.

"And when the people hear the master is dumping fish in the lake?" Bard asked him, "When the rioting starts? Will it be your problem then?"

Firiel could hear the steady sound of fish hitting the water. They were going to be found. She took a deep breath and prayed to anyone or anything who might be listening.

"…Stop," Alfred gave in.

There was thunking and soon the footsteps were retreating. Firiel exhaled and breathed out a small "thank you".

"Ever the people's champion, eh Bard?" Alfred spat, "Protector of the common folk. You might have their favour now, bargeman, but it won't last."

Footsteps began to slink away, and Percy called for the gate to be raised.

"The master has his eye on you," she heard Arthur say, "You'd do well to remember. We know where you live!"

"It's a small town, Alfred," Bard nearly laughed, "Everyone knows where everyone lives."

Firiel snorted. She liked this man. They were off again through the waters, and Firiel felt she could finally breathe a sigh of relief. When they finally came to a stop, she heard someone's barrel be kicked over and the cough of coughing. Another two were kicked over before Firiel heard Dwalin speak.

"Get your hands off me," the sturdy dwarf growled.

At that, she and Bilbo decided now would be a good time to pull themselves from their fishy prison. She stood up, shoving trout out of the way and pulling herself free. She was covered in fish oil and muck, probably a few organs to boot. She saw the others shoving their way out of the barrels as well. Firiel managed to get her bottom up onto the rim of the barrel, and she felt hands under her armpits pulling her out the rest of the way. She turned to see that Thorin, strangely enough, was helping her out. The mighty dwarf lifted her up with ease and plopped her down on her feet before turning to do the same to Bilbo. The dock master, she presumed, looked on in amazement.

"You didn't see them. They were never here," Bard told him, sliding something into his hand, "The fish you can have for nothing."

Firiel saw it was one of the silver coins they had given him. Bard was using the money they paid him to smuggle them in here. They all piled off the boat and up against the walls. Firiel found Fili and Kili easily enough, and saw they looked positively awful. Poor Fili; all his hair and clothes had been slicked down to his skin and he looked totally disgusted. He was too.

"Follow me," Bard said, taking off down the docks.

Firiel looked around as they tiptoed after Bard, and saw that the whole town was docks. This place literally sat in the middle of the lake, the buildings coming up out of the water and great canals acting as streets. It was miraculous. Everything looked to be falling apart though, and was in desperate need of repair. They slunk through the shadows after Bard, but they stopped short when a human boy ran up to them.

"Da!" the boy said, his voice clearly changing, "Our house. It's being watched."

So this was Bard's son. Firiel could see it clearly, for the boy had Bard's nose and dark curls. Bard turned to look back at them, seemingly lost at what to do. And then he got an idea.

"You'll have to swim," he said.

"Swim?" Firiel nearly choked, "But we'll die!"

"Don't worry," Bard looked down at her, "There's ice I know, but the water's not nearly so cold as it looks. Besides, my home is just past these houses here."

"This is madness," Bilbo muttered.

"But what choice do we have?" Thorin asked them.

At that, the hobbits conceded. Firiel looked up at the bargeman.

"How do we get in to your house?" she asked.

"Swim that way and down to our little dock," Bard told her, pointing off in one direction, "If you go that way, you'll see a small dingy right up against it. You need to go under the house and come up through the toilet."

"I'm sorry, the toilet?" "You'd have us climb through your sewage?" "Unbelievable…"

"Shhhh," Bard shushed them, "It's the only way to get you into the house unseen. Swim under the docks. There's just enough room for you to breathe and pull yourselves along, and you'll be harder to spot. When you get under, wait until my boy comes down to knock on the wall."

They all looked at one another. Thorin had been right. What choice did they have?

Soon, the company found themselves sliding into the cold, filthy waters. Fili waited on the side of the dock for Firiel. Firiel could not contain her close-mouthed squeal as she slid in, her entire body stinging with the loss of heat. Fili grabbed her and pulled her in to him. He could feel her shivering as he tucked them both under the dock.

"I-it's alright," she exhaled through trembling lips, "You can let go. I can pull myself."

Firiel tried to pull back and grab hold of the bottom of the docks with her numb and shaking fingers, but Fili wouldn't allow it. She was strong, that he knew, but he also knew she would freeze if he didn't keep her close. He grabbed her arm and wrapped it around his neck, pulling one of her legs around his waist. Firiel's other leg came up willingly, but she continued to try and grasp the dock with her other arm.

"It's not alright," he told her gently, nudging her cheek affectionately, "Just hold on to me. Please. You'll freeze if you don't."

Firiel looked around and saw that Dwalin had Bilbo clinging to his back for warmth. The dwarves were not nearly so bothered by the cold as they were. Firiel sighed shakily and gave in, wrapping her other arm around Fili and pulling herself in tight. His body, though soaked, gave off more heat than hers ever did. Her hands felt like ice against the back of his neck, and Fili knew they had to hurry.

At that, they were off, clawing their way through the freezing cold water. Bard and his son walked above them, and they knew where they were going. Soon, they came upon the house. Dwalin, Bilbo still attached to them, dove down below the surface to lead the way.

"Deep breath," Fili whispered to her before diving down after Dwalin.

They came up underneath the house, and Firiel noticed that the sewage passage was remarkably clean. And that there were little rungs along the inner wall with which to pull oneself up. How often did Bard do this?

They waited in silence underneath for about thirty seconds (any longer and Fili was certain Firiel would have gone into shock), before there was a knocking on the wood. That was their cue. Dwalin pushed Bilbo off quickly and poked his head up through the hole of the tiny seat. Firiel heard Dwalin muttering angrily before casting the whole seat up and pulling himself through. He reached down and he and Bard helped pulled Bilbo up. Ori was next but Fili called out to him.

"Help me get her up first," he swam towards Ori, "She's freezing."

Ori nodded, and together he and Fili helped to hoist Firiel up. She reached up and Bard grabbed hold of her hands, pulling her right out. When he set her down, he rubbed her arms quickly to try and warm her up. Firiel didn't know it, but her lips were white. Some colour was starting to return to them now that she as out though, and Bard knew it would be alright.

"There you go," Bard whispered, patting her back and guiding her along, "Go on up after your uncle. I'll get you a blanket."

Firiel did as she was told and chased up the stairs after Bilbo. She saw that Bard did indeed have three children. A girl, probably about seventeen or so, was looking down the stairs at them as they climbed up. She saw a much younger girl, maybe nine or ten, staring at them in amazement.

"Da, why are there dwarves coming out of our toilet?" the older girl asked.

"Will they bring us luck?" the younger girl asked excitedly.

Soon, everyone was out and curled up by the fire. Bard had sat Firiel right down in front of it. Fili had been beside her in an instant, and thrown her pack by the fire to dry before wrapping his arm around her as he tried to warm her up. Blankets had been passed to her and Bilbo first, and the other dwarves all stood around with theirs, rubbing their arms as if they'd just gone for a lovely summer dip. Bard had his little girl run to one of the chests to get them some clothes.

"They might not be the best fit," Bard told them, "But they'll keep you warm."

She came around to each of them as her older sister began pouring mugs of tea, and they all thanked her. The dwarves all started to change immediately, not really thinking about the children in the room. The children didn't seem to mind though, and Firiel knew they had probably done this for many strangers before. When the little girl reached Fili and Firiel, she smiled at them and extended the tunics to them. Fili took two and thanked her, holding them up to see which one was smallest. He had a dark blue and a cream one, and the cream looked much better for Firiel. He tossed his down and turned to her. She stared at the fire, her knees against her chest and her whole body shaking. Fili ran his hand over her back, and she looked up at him.

"Here," he said, handing her the tunic, "Put this on. It's dry."

Firiel took it from him with a grateful smile, popping the blanket over her head in order to pull off her shirt somewhat privately. She almost knocked the blanket off a couple times, but Fili caught it every time, pulling it back over her. She handed him her wet tunic from under the blanket, and Fili stood to lay it out on the hearth. When he turned back, Firiel had the cream-coloured tunic pulled over her head and was now brushing her fingers through her wet hair. You could see her green undergarment due to the tunic's deep neck, and he felt his whole body grow warm. In the firelight, flecks of red and gold in her hair glistened, and her eyes looked bright and inviting. Everything about her looked bright and inviting. He shook his head and pulled his own wet tunic from his head, bending down next to her to pick up the blue one. He could feel his hair dripping down his back. Firiel noticed, and, when he was sat down, she reached around him. He could see and feel that she was much warmer now.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Wringing out your hair," she chuckled, "It'll just make your shirt wet if I don't."

He smiled and allowed her to do as she pleased. He enjoyed having her arms around him, even if it wasn't in an embrace. While she worked on Fili's mane, running her finger through it to try and remove some of the knots, Firiel could see Thorin staring out the window. He peeked out, and suddenly a look of haunted knowing came over him as he whispered something to himself. Bilbo seemed to notice, and wandered up to Thorin with his mug.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bilbo said to him, blowing some steam from his tea.

"He has," Balin murmured, coming up to the two of them, "The last time we saw such a weapon, the city was on fire. It was the day the dragon came. The day that Smaug destroyed Dale."

At that, Firiel stopped to listen. Fili too was interested (although he knew this story well), and they turned to look at Balin as he spoke.

"Girion, the lord of the city, rallied his bowmen to fire upon the beast," Balin told them, "But a dragon's hide is tough. Tougher than the strongest armour. Only a black arrow, fired from a wind-lance, could have pierced a dragon's hide. And few of those arrows were ever made. His store was running low when Girion made his last stand."

"Had the aim of men been true that day, much would have been different," Thorin said, his voice wavering slightly.

At that, Bard wandered up to the three.

"You speak as if you were there," the bargeman said.

Thorin straightened then and looked upon Bard firmly.

"All dwarves know the tale," he said simply.

At that, Bard's son came towards them.

"Then you would know that Girion hit the dragon," the boy cried defensively, "And loosened a scale under the left wing. One more shot, and he would have killed the beast!"

At that, Dwalin chuckled from behind him. The boy looked back at him, and Dwalin smiled at him.

"That's a fairy story, Lad," Dwalin told him, "Nothing more."

At that, the boy looked up at Bard, his eyes helpless. Firiel wondered briefly what was going on there, but she didn't have much time.

"You took our money," Thorin said, walking towards them, "Where are the weapons?"

He and Bard stared at one another, and distrust was ever prevalent on Bard's face. But soon he turned to head off down his stairs.

"Wait here," the bargeman ordered.

As he took off, the company all looked at one another, and soon they gathered together around the table. Fili, Kili, Balin, and Thorin all stood together in the far corner to speak. Firiel, with her keen ears, could hear every word they spoke.

"Tomorrow begins the last days of autumn," Thorin whispered to them.

"Durin's Day falls the morn after next," Balin nodded, "We must reach the mountain before then."

"And what if we do not?" Kili asked them, looking over his shoulder for eavesdroppers, "If we fail to find the hidden door before that time…"

"Then this quest has been for nothing," Fili added, gazing up at Thorin.

At that, Bard returned to them with a wet bundle, placing it down on the table. He unwrapped it, and inside were crude, rusted pieces of metal. Smith's hammers, fishing hooks and farmer's tools. Those were not weapons. Fili looked up at Bard, nearly insulted, and Firiel couldn't blame him. After all they had paid, and all the risk they had gone to, these were not what they needed. The dwarves picked up the tools and scowled at them in disgust.

"What is this?" Thorin demanded growlingly.

"Pike hook," Bard told him, "Came from an old harpoon."

"And this?" Kili asked, holding a hammer.

"Crowbill, we call it, fashioned from a smithy's hammer," Bard replied, "It's heavy in hand I grant, but in defense of your life, it will serve you better than none."

"We paid you for weapons," Gloin stated crossly, "Iron-forged swords and axes!"

"It's a joke," Bofur agreed, slamming his stick back into the pile.

The others all muttered their agreements, tossing their offered weapons back down.

"You won't find better outside the city armoury," Bard called over their grumbles, "All iron-forged weapons are held there under lock and key."

At that, Firiel saw Dwalin and Thorin sharing a glance, and her stomach dropped a bit. They couldn't be thinking what she thought they were thinking, could they? Hadn't they done enough shady business for one trip? Balin seemed to notice and turned to Thorin.

"Thorin," he said, "Why not take what is offered? I've done with less. So have you. I say we leave now."

"You're not going anywhere," Bard said.

"What did you say?" Dwalin asked him.

"There's spies watching this house, and probably every dock and wharf in the town," Bard snapped, "You must wait until nightfall."

At that, everyone sighed, plopping down into their chairs if they had one. Bard wrapped up the so-called weapons and headed off to dispose of them. Firiel noticed Kili sitting down tensely on the window bench near her. He looked pale and was trying to discretely rub his knee. He clearly didn't want the others to know. Firiel stood from her seat and padded over to sit beside him.

"You hanging in the alright?" she asked him, looking ahead to avoid drawing attention to his wound.

Kili looked at her, a little curious as to what she was doing. Firiel looked back as though it were obvious. They were friends, after all.

"Fine," Kili told her, though she knew it was a lie, "Just fine."

"Uh huh," she nodded.

There was a brief silence between them.

"Please don't tell Fili," Kili whispered, "I don't want him to worry, you know?"

Firiel smiled a bit at that, and nodded in understanding. Their Fili was a bit of a worrywart when it came to the two of them. She looked around and her eyes met Fili's. She knew then that she didn't have to tell Fili anything, because he already knew that Kili wasn't doing so good. She decided to just move on from the request.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Firiel asked him one last time.

"I'm fine," Kili said more certainly this time, "It's just going to take a little time to heal."

"Come on," she heard Thorin say then, "We must go, now, while the sun is setting and the bargeman is gone."

She looked and saw the others were all gearing to leave. It seemed that they all knew that they didn't have the time for this nonsense. She took Kili's arm and helped him to his feet. Kili was off then like nothing was wrong, and Firiel ran to the fire to grab her pack. They were headed off to the stairs behind Thorin when Bard's son jumped in front of them.

"No, you can't leave," the boy cried.

"Out of our way, boy," Dwalin spat, picking the boy up and setting him aside, "This is none of your affair."

They headed on past, with Dwalin blocking the child's way.

"You'll be seen," the boy said desperately.

"That is none of your concern," Thorin told him before looking back on the company, "We'll crawl around the lower dock."

The boy tried several more times to block their way, but soon they were all out of the house and tucking themselves in amongst the ropes, boats, and barrels.


	14. Chapter 14

When night fell, the company slipped through Laketown on silent foot. There where soldiers walking about in the evening, and they seemed to be enforcing a curfew. Firiel wondered what sort of leader they had here. They watched from behind a fishing boat as two more soldiers walked by.

"So," she whispered, "what's the plan?"

"We'll break into the armoury," Thorin whispered back, loud enough for the others to hear, "As soon as we have the weapons, we'll make straight for the mountain…Go, go, go!"

They took off through the darkness as the soldiers walked passed them. Firiel had no idea how Thorin even knew where this place was, but she had decided not to ask. Some of the dwarves piled on top of one another like a great stairwell, and Nori took off up their backs towards the open window. Once Nori was up, Thorin ordered Bilbo on behind him. Firiel was next, and scaled her companions with ease, laughing at herself a bit. Nori pulled her in through the window, and she looked back out, amazed she had even done that. She, Nori, Kili, Thorin, Bofur, and Bilbo took off towards the walls, and began to pull off axes and swords. Kili was having trouble lifting, and Firiel could see her was heavily favouring his uninjured leg. Even then, he panted and gasped with the weight of two axes, which she had come to learn was nothing for him at all.

"You alright?" Thorin asked his nephew quietly.

"Yeah, I can manage," Kili whispered back.

"Pass these down to Fili," Thorin said, placing a sword on top of Kili's pile.

Kili made it most of the way towards the window, but what happened next, Firiel saw coming. Kili's injured leg buckled, and he fell, all the weapons he had been carrying clattering down a staircase. Kili fell down part of the flight of stairs, and Firiel dropped what she was carrying to dive after him. She managed to grab Kili's arm before he impaled himself on a sword. He looked at her with gratitude in his eyes, but sounds of yelling soon turned that look to one of panic. They had alerted the guards.

Before either of them could move, two soldiers were upon them, a dagger at each of their throats. Firiel looked at the soldier who had her, and then back to Kili. He looked like all the colour was gone from his cheeks. They would never reach the Lonely Mountain now.

* * *

They were gathered together outside the armoury like a herd of cows and poked and prodded through the town. Firiel looked and saw that Fili was unharmed and smiled for a moment before she was pushed off. As they were marched through Laketown, people came from their homes with lit torches to watch the procession. The crowd followed them to what seemed to be the largest building in town. Firiel scowled when a ratty-looking little man poked his head out the double doors. Was that the Master of Laketown?

They were stopped before the grand staircase, and the double doors were flung open. A fat, balding man stomped through, pulling a housecoat over his shoulders.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

The ratty man stood just behind him, and Firiel knew then that this windbag was the master. The captain of the guard, he seemed to be, bowed his head before speaking.

"We caught them stealing weapons, Sire," he said.

"Ah, enemies of the state, eh?" the master spoke.

"I said they're a bunch of mercenaries if ever there was, Sire."

The ratty man spoke, and Firiel recognized him immediately as the man who had almost caught them at the gate. He was as ugly as his voice suggested. His name was Alfred, or something to that effect. Dwalin was clearly not a fan of all this.

"Hold your tongue," the dwarf spat, wandering forwards, "You do not know to whom you speak! This is no common criminal!"

At that, the master regarded them curiously. Dwalin extended his arm towards Thorin, who began to step forwards.

"This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!" Dwalin cried.

"We are the dwarves of Erebor," Thorin announced, "We have come to reclaim our homeland."

At that, gasps and whispers took hold of the crowd. These people knew very well who Thorin was. The master looked shocked at Thorin's presence. Thorin stepped up to the bottom of the stairs, and looked out around him. Fili and Firiel looked at one another, and Firiel saw that Fili had an idea what Thorin and Dwalin were up to.

"I remember this town in the great days of old," Thorin said to the people, "Fleets of boats lay at harbour, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake! This was the centre of all trade in the north!"

The people nodded, chorusing shouts of agreement, and Firiel knew instantly where this was going. Thorin was giving them a battle speech. He was trying to win their help.

"I will see those days return," Thorin continued, "I would relight the great forges of the dwarves, so that wealth and riches flow in once more, from the halls of Erebor!"

The crowd was shouting now, alight with a fire that Thorin was so good at inspiring, but Firiel felt sick. Greed. That's what Thorin was winning their support with. These people looked desperate and starving, and the dwarves clearly knew it. Thorin turned back to address the master, but he was interrupted.

"Death!" a voice rang out over the crowd.

Firiel looked and saw it was Bard making his way forwards through the crowd. He pushed his way into the centre of the circle.

"That is what you will bring upon us," the bargeman glared down at Thorin, "Dragon fire, and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all."

The reality of what it was they were about to do hit Firiel like a ton of bricks. They were going into a mountain to slay a fire-breathing dragon, but it had never occurred to her what might happen if the sleeping beast awoke. What if they didn't defeat it? What would happen to these people?

"You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this," Thorin told the crowd, "If we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain."

At that, the earlier joy of the crowd returned, and Firiel felt a smile come to her face at that. These people really did need the gold. The look of their town alone told her that. Much less gazing upon their thin and starving faces. But, if they would risk dragon fire, destruction, and death to see their days of prosperity returned, that worried her a bit.

"You will have enough gold to rebuild Eskaros ten times over!" Thorin shouted.

The crowd cheered, but Bard would not be so easily swayed.

"All of you, listen to me!" the bargeman cried, turning out to face them, "You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale? Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm?"

"No!" someone shouted, and the crowd began to chatter in panic and ill-contentment.

_How easily swayed these people are_, Firiel noted.

"And for what purpose?" Bard continued, "The blind ambition of a mountain king! So driven by greed, he cannot see beyond his own desire!"

Thorin and Bard stared one another down hatefully.

"Now, now, we must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame," the master called out over the crowd, shaking his finger at Bard, "Let us not forget that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast, hm?!"

The crowd all shouted out in agreement, and Firiel understood Bard's reasoning. His family had fallen from lords to poverty because of this dragon. Because of Erebor, he could barely feed his children.

"It's true, Sire," Alfred agreed, "We all know the story! Arrow after arrow he shot, each one missing its mark."

Bard looked as though he might cry, but he advanced on Thorin, remaining firm for a crowd that cried out against him.

"You have no right," he told Thorin, "No right to enter that mountain."

At that, Thorin leaned towards him.

"I have the only right," was the dwarf's reply.

He and Bard glared at one another a moment more before Thorin turned to address the master.

"I speak to the Master of the Men of the Lake," he said, climbing up the stairs, "Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?"

Firiel had to admit that Thorin was a good speaker, but that didn't make this whole affair sit any better with her. A glimmer of excitement crossed the plump man's face, and Firiel knew that Thorin had won him over with the mere mention of wealth. It was disgusting.

"What say you?" Thorin asked him.

"I say unto you," the master paused for effect, "Welcome!"

The crowd cheered, and the guards immediately lowered their swords from the company.

"Welcome thrice," the master cried, "Welcome, King Under the Mountain!"

The crowd hooted, hollered, and cheered as Thorin turned back to gaze out at them. Bard's shoulders nearly slumped in defeat. The company all grinned at one another, laughing and patting each other on the backs. Fili looked down at Firiel, and his smile faltered when he saw that she wasn't even wearing one. She just stared up at Thorin, Bard, and the master, a dark, contemplative look on her features. As Firiel watched the three, she knew something was wrong with all of this.

Something was terribly wrong indeed.

* * *

The master's men led the company to the local inn, and set them all up in rooms for the next two evenings. It was decided they would set out on Durin's Day, in order for them to be properly equipped. Each of them, aside from Fili and Kili, had their own room, and Thorin gave the master a list of supplies they would need that the greedy man was happy to fill.

The company was given food and drink aplenty the day before their journey, but Fili was quick to notice that Firiel was not among them. At first, he had thought she was simply sleeping in and left it be, but, as the day wore on and the sun set, he realized that was not the case at all. She hadn't left her room.

After dinner, when the others were drinking and celebrating their near success, Fili asked the innkeeper which room was hers. He started off to check on her, and found her room with great ease. It was right next to his. He knocked on her door gently, and was relieved when she replied.

"Come in," her voice called from within.

He opened the door and expected to see her coming towards him, but he was surprised by what he found. Firiel was simply standing at the window, staring out into the night sky. Her notebook was laid out on the bedside table next to a large jar candle, and her other belongings were spread out as well, still drying from their many watery treks. She had been given a nightgown of white silk, and had obviously just bathed, for her hair was wet. He hadn't even seen her face, and the sight of her took his breath away.

Firiel barely even noticed Fili's presence, or hear him gently close the door. She looked out towards Erebor, which she had a perfect view of, and found a sick, dark feeling creeping up inside of her. There was something very wrong with this whole place. She stood there, pondering what on earth it was that made her feel this way, and wished that Gandalf were here to tell her. He knew what it was, and now Firiel wished desperately to know why this darkness came upon her in this way.

"What's wrong?"

Firiel straightened up to attention and saw Fili was beside her, looking at her warmly yet quizzically. She tried to smile at him, but found that she could not, and turned to look out towards the mountain once again. He decided to look out with her, and saw the stars sparkling in the autumn night.

"I don't like this," she whispered suddenly, "Something is very wrong with this whole thing."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Firiel looked up at him, amazed. Was she the only one who could feel the darkness in the air?

"…You don't feel it?"

Fili smiled at her. He looked out to the mountain again, and wondered what on earth she was talking about.

"Is this what you felt in the wood?" he asked.

He looked back at her and saw Firiel frowning.

"I don't know," she admitted, "But it sure does feel like it. You really can't feel it?"

She looked so sweet in the starlight, with the bedside candlelight flickering off her hair. This was the first time they had truly been alone since the start of their journey. He took her hand and brought it to his chest. She turned to looked at him, confused by the action. He placed his other hand along her jaw, stroking her cheek.

"I feel this," he told her, placing her hand over his heart, "I feel us. You and me. That's the only thing I ever need to feel."

Firiel inhaled and exhaled through her nose, smiling at him. His heartbeat was strong, steady, yet it quickened the longer she felt it. He leaned in and placed a kiss to her lips. Firiel felt her heart flutter in delight, and his did as well.

When he pulled back, she had almost forgotten the dread hanging in the air above them. She placed her hand on his cheek, and studied his handsome face for a moment, running her thumb along his bottom lip. She was mesmerized by her kind and gentle prince. His lips turned upwards under her thumb, and he kissed it gently. Firiel felt a fire beginning to fan up in her belly, and she knew immediately why. They were alone, in the dark calm of night.

And she wanted him. Badly.

At that realization, she stepped into him, pressing her body up close to him. Fili was surprised by her sudden advance, but one look into her eye and he knew. And he wanted her too. He felt himself grow hard, the need he had felt in the Woodland Realm swelling up inside of him.

"Thank you for keeping me warm in canals, by the way," she said, her eyes casting their way down to his lips, "And protecting me from the orcs. And the elves."

"You're welcome," he smiled.

He kissed her then, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in close. He felt her hands wind up into his hair as he pulled her flush against him. Firiel felt that he was already hard, and her womanhood pulsed, nearly dripping with excitement. No sooner had they begun to kiss did the biting and sucking begin, rabid need boiling up between them.

Now that they were alone, Firiel did not have to fight to be silent. She moaned and gasped headily, and Fili found her vocalizing intoxicating. Every sound she made fanned the fire in his loins. He ran his hands down from her waist to her round bottom, and squeezed as he pulled her hips into his roughly. Firiel gasped and arched her back, offering him her throat. He devoured it hungrily, kissing, biting, and sucking the sensitive skin. Firiel was quickly becoming lost in the pleasure that was shooting through her body, consuming her very soul and turning her into a panting, moaning mess. She brought her hands to his tunic, tugging at it roughly, her hands not quite working right in the way they clenched at every suckle her lover gave to the flesh of her neck. Fili soon felt her cool hands against his skin though and pulled back from her, quickly ridding himself of his tunic. He rid himself of his boots as well, kicking them into some far off corner.

He moved to grab her again, but Firiel had other plans. She ran her hands between them, dragging her nails through his chest hair and bringing her hands up to his face, pulling him in for a quick kiss. Before her could latch on to her though, Firiel slipped down to her knees, coyly kissing her way along the hair that trailed down into his trousers. Fili found that he could only watch her, winding his hands into her curls. Firiel ran her hands along the bulge of his pants, enjoying the way he gripped her hair and nearly pulled her into it. She ran her hands along the length a few times before undoing his belt. She grabbed his pants and peeled them away to reveal his erect member. It was long and thick, and she could feel her own juices dripping down her thigh at the sight. She actually found herself drooling a little. That had never happened before him, but she didn't stop to dwell on it.

Without a second thought, she took him in her mouth, bringing in as much of him as she could take. She gagged on him, and found he reached the back of her throat. And she could still wrap her thumb and index finger around the base. Firiel thought she might be able to take all of him in again, but found she couldn't when he hit her gag reflex for the second time. Instead, she wrapped her hand around the base of this shaft, squeezing and pumping as she sucked on him. Fili's fist wound tighter into her hair as he stared down at her, mesmerized and completely turned on. He actually had to grab hold of the wall to steady himself after a particularly strong pump. Firiel soon pulled away though, panting harder than he was. Her jaw actually hurt, and she looked up at him to apologize as she rubbed her joint.

"Sorry, my endurance isn't exactly fantast-."

Firiel didn't have time to finish her sentence. Fili pulled her up off the ground, slamming his lips against hers to kill that thought. How could she ever think she had to apologize for that? He could taste himself on her, and it thrilled him entirely. He felt her settle into their kiss and wrap her arms around his neck with a contented sigh and a delightful little moan. He bit down on her lip and she gave a pleasure-soaked cry that bubbled up from the back of her throat like champagne. He was getting drunk off the sound. He had to have her. Had to hear what sweet sounds she would make in the throes of ecstasy.

Placing both hands under her thighs, Fili picked her right up off the ground. Firiel squealed and giggled in delight, grabbing tight to his massive shoulders. He kicked off his trousers and walked them over to the bed, laying her down gently and climbing on top of her. He and Firiel both worked quickly to pull the nightgown over her head, and soon her whole body was exposed to him. She was even more glorious than he had imagined. Her powerful legs sloped down from her wide, long hips, which fanned out from her delicate waist. The curls of her pubic hair looked soft as anything, and he could see clearly the lips of her womanhood, which were nearly the same pink as those delicious lips he kissed so fervently. Her breasts he was already acquainted with (and they were no less stunning than the first time he saw them), as he was with the flush of her cheeks and the loose, dirty-blonde curls that fanned out around her. When he looked into her eyes, her beautiful, fiery eyes, the picture was complete. This was Firiel. This was the woman he loved.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, looming forwards to kiss her forehead.

"Thank you," she smiled cutely at him, "You're not so bad yourself."

And that was an understatement. Every muscle on Fili's body was big, sturdy and perfectly shaped. Firiel could have stared at him staring at her the whole night. His eyes were filled with longing, lust, and a beautiful warmth that made her feel like she was the sun in the sky. Her heart had never felt move full than it did here, with him. To her, this was as intimate as any conversation they could ever have.

He laughed at her joke and kissed her again, running his hands down her sides. Firiel could feel his callouses and the bandage she had wrapped around his hand scratching her sensitive skin, but it wasn't a bad scratching at all. She rather liked it. Soon, those hands were rubbing gentle circles along her hips, and, very shorty, one made its way to her womanhood. Firiel gasped as Fili inserted one of his huge, thick fingers inside of her, arching her back and moaning deeply. He soon began to stretch her long neglected body with a second finger, bending down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. This time when she cried out, he felt her inner walls clamp down on his fingers, and it drove him on to bite down on her nipple. Firiel gave a moan very near to a scream, winding her hands into his hair and arching her breasts up towards him even more. God, he was so good at this. He began to move is fingers in and out as he assaulted her sensitive nipples, thrusting them back and forth inside of her. Firiel though she was going to explode.

"Oh god, Fili," she moaned his name, "Fili!'

The sound of his name on her lips spurred him on even farther. He left her breast and travelled downward, quickly spotting his destination tucked among her short curls. Pulling Firiel's legs farther apart with his free hand, Fili bent down and began to suck on her swollen nub as he fingered her. Firiel's toes curled at the sensation, and sharp fire shot through her. White-hot pleasure began to build up inside her, and Fili had to hold her hips down as they bucked forwards.

"Oh god, I'm so close," she whispered, "Oh god, oh god, Fili!"

She climaxed in a blast of searing pleasure, crying out as her orgasm hit her. Fili watched as her chest jerked upwards and her stomach muscles flexed, her head lolling back and exposing her throat as her eyes screwed shut and her beautiful pout dropped into a perfect "o". He felt her orgasm almost pulling his fingers in deeper, and her voice had gone horse from her cries towards the end of it. Again, she was even better than he had imagined. She lay there, panting, as the last inklings of her orgasm ran through her legs. She pulled herself up on her elbows then and looked down at Fili, who was still between her legs, smiling. He smiled back and pulled himself back over top of her, and grinned like a moron when Firiel kissed him cutely on the nose.

The cuteness didn't last though, for, before he knew it, he was on his back, Firiel straddling him and kissing him with a renewed energy and passion he wouldn't have known her capable of mustering. He could feel the tip of his erection poking at her soaking wet entrance, and moaned at the teasing sensation, immediately harder than rock. Firiel sat back from him then, and as they looked at one another, a seriousness coming over them. This was it.

"You know, once we do this, there's no turning back," Firiel murmured to him in the candlelight, "We can never go back to the way we were. We can't ever walk away from this. Is that alright with you?"

Fili looked up into her eyes, and saw the uncertainty that lingered there. She was afraid. Afraid he would someday decide he didn't want her. Afraid of what the future might hold for them. Fili sat up then, pulling her in for another kiss. He tried to put everything into it. Tried to let her know how much he wanted her, and only her. For the rest of his life, he knew it could only be her. No one else would ever do, and nothing could compare to being with her. To the way she made him feel.

"How could I ever want to walk away from this?" he breathed against her mouth, "From you? You're all I ever want. No one else will ever be enough. Nothing else matters but this. But being with you. I want only you. …Is that alright with you?"

Now, Firiel was uncertain as to what this meant. It wasn't necessarily that she didn't know what he meant, because she most certainly did. He wanted to be with her, no matter the consequences. And the consequences could potentially be many.

Fili was a dwarf, for starters. It only really mattered that he was a dwarf due to the simple fact that, while dwarves live well over two hundred years, hobbits lived a hundred twenty at maximum. And twenty-seven of her years were already spent. Nearly twenty-eight, now that she thought about it. Even if he was already a hundred years old, she would grow old and fade away whilst he was still a young man. She would die and leave him.

Upon the thought of age, Firiel's mind immediately wandered to children. What would they be like? Could they even have children? She had heard of the half-orcs born of human women, so clearly orcs and men could breed. There were half-elves running around Middle Earth, so that was also a possibility. Half-dwarves, born of human women usually, were known of as well. But half-hobbits? Much less dwarf-hobbits? She'd never heard of such a thing. Hobbits didn't breed with other races; they stuck to their own kind. How long would their children live? Would she leave them too, long before they were ready to be without a mother?

Then came the fact that he was a prince. Of a people of another race. He could, _would_ be their king someday. Would they accept a hobbit as the king's wife? Would she even be allowed to marry him? Or worse, would he have to marry someone else? Would she only be a mistress to the king?

With all this uncertainty, only one thing was infinitely clear to Firiel. In spite of all of this, and no matter how selfish she felt it was, she loved Fili. Loved him. And she knew she would always love him. She didn't need all that certainty to know that she wanted to be with him. Enough to leave everything behind. Enough to live underneath the rocks of a mountain kingdom for the rest of her cripplingly short life. Enough that she felt she could face the disapproval of his people. Enough to stand beside him until death took her from this world.

She had never loved anyone like this before.

"Firiel?" she heard him calling to her softly, "Firiel, are you alright?"

She snapped her head up towards him, realizing she had spaced out. He looked confused, and mildly hurt, and it made her heart bleed. Firiel soon kissed him back just as passionately, trying to put all of her feelings into her own kiss as well. Suddenly, nothing else mattered anymore, except the two of them. She knew she had fallen in love, and there could be no denying it now. No one else would ever measure up to this. To him. It wasn't the hormones talking, and that she was certain of. She had decided to be his long ago, though she had only just realized it. She had been lost from the moment he had looked at her with those eyes like the sky. Boundless and bright, filled with endless possibility. They were her greatest adventure. She pulled back from him and looked into his now mildly dazed eyes.

"I've never been better," she admitted softly, "I have everything I could ever want right here. With you. …Am I scared? Completely. I'm terrified for being hurt again. Terrified of what the future could hold for us.

"But, at the same time, it's you," she concluded, placing her hand along his jaw, "And I don't have to be afraid."

At that, Fili smiled, pulling her back in again. Firiel allowed him to draw her in, and they began to spiral down beyond the point of no return. Firiel grabbed hold of him and lined him up with her entrance. Fili placed his hands on her hips to help guide her down slowly. By the gods, she was tight. She was still so wet from her orgasm that he slid in with ease, slowly stretching her in ways she had never felt before. Firiel held tight to his shoulders, moaning and digging her nails into them. His hips were so much wider than hers that she could feel her own hips craning from the stretch. He was so big. And so much bigger than her. By the time he was all the way in, they were both panting like dogs. Fili could feel her trembling, and kissed her shoulder gently.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yeah," Firiel exhaled, her breath a shivering moan within itself, "Oh god, you're stretching me…"

Oh gods, did he know it too. He could feel her body trying to accommodate him, and it made his ego swell. He'd make sure that no one could ever satisfy her again after this. No one but him. Every shuddering breath she took, he could feel her insides pulsing. After a moment, her breathing returned to a decent sphere.

"Alright," she whispered, "Alright….Ok, ok we can move now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

At that, Firiel began to raise herself up slowly, Fili guiding her with gentle hands. Her legs were shaking, and, as she came down again, she was so filled that she could hardly breathe. A few times more, and she gave a sharp hiss as pain shot through her hip joints. Fili stilled her immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"Ah, my hips." she rubbed her joints harshly, "I haven't done this in a while."

"Do you want me to take over?"

"That would probably be a good idea."

He helped her slide off, and Firiel nearly cried at the sudden emptiness she felt. But once he pulled her off his lap, she did cry a bit, from the pain in her hips. Her joints were stinging and burning, and her muscles hated her. Fili was over her in an instant as she lay back on the bed, his hands massaging her.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, kissing her nose and forehead.

"It's alright, it's not your fault," she replied.

"Should we stop?"

"Are you nuts? I'll be fine. There should be less strain on my hips like this."

Fili was uncertain, but nodded anyways. He wanted to please her, not hurt her. Ever so gently, he crawled over top of her and lined himself up with her entrance. Placing his hands just above her shoulders, he slid back into her, delighting at the gorgeous moan she gave. She grabbed hold of his face and wrapped her legs up around him, as if to pull him in deeper. Fili smiled a bit as Firiel pulled him in for a kiss, and got down on his elbows, placing his hand up behind her back and grabbing her shoulders. With his weight bearing down on her and his body covering her like a shield, Firiel had never felt safer. Or more precious. He soon began a steady pace, gently trusting in and out of her. The feeling of her body around him was more pleasurable than anything he had felt or imagined before, and his ears were singing at every gasp and moan she gave in them.

"Harder," she begged him.

Her wish was his command, and he pounded into her, keeping that steady pace. Firiel gasped and cried out, pleasure slamming through her. Her hands were on his back, probably leaving deep red welts as they dug into his skin and scratched him with every thrust. The pain was euphoric and it drove him on further. He began to pick up speed, and Firiel thought she was going to pass out from the feeling as that white hot pleasure she had felt before began to build up again.

"Oh god, Fili, harder! Faster!"

He used that amazing strength of his and rammed into her, and Firiel saw stars, her hips jerking upwards to meet his next thrust.

"There! Right there!"

A couple thrusts later, and he knew he had found that spot again when Firiel cried out, her chest arching upwards and her head lolling back. He pistoned his hip expertly, hitting that spot again and again and delighting in the way his love cried out at every thrust. Soon her short cried were long, wavering moans and Fili felt his release building up. Not yet. He needed her to cum again.

"Touch yourself," he commanded headily in her ear, biting down on the lobe.

Firiel didn't need to be told twice. She slithered her little hand down between them and began to rub her clitoris. It seemed to usual one-fingered circles were not enough, and Firiel scrambled a bit to find something that worked as Fili continued to penetrate her. When she took her index and middle finger and pressed down, digging in and moving them in circles to match the pace of Fili's thrusts, her toes curled and she felt her entire womanhood clamped around him in sweet ecstasy as her legs began to tremble and her mouth fell open with a silent scream. That was it. She could feel another orgasm building up like first waves of a tsunami as he slammed into her body, filling her completely with every thrust.

"Ah! Fili! Oh yes, oh god yes! I'm so close!"

Their eyes met, and Fili could see only her. She had to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Her eyes were fogged with pleasure. Her beautiful lips were parted and allowing only the most intoxicating sounds to pass through them. She was writhing and crying out beneath him, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. So beautiful. And she was his. His eyes were dark and devouring every inch of her that he could see. The sight of him brought Firiel even higher; as did the word that tumbled from his lips as he placed his forehead against her own.

"Firiel," he murmured her name amongst his pants and grunts with a tenderness she had never heard before.

That was all it took to drive her over the edge.

"Oh god, Fili, I'm-AH!

Her orgasm slammed into her, the final, fatal wave of the tsunami washing over her and drowning her in its hot, flaming depths. The sight and feeling of her orgasm around him brought Fili his own release. The sensation of his hot seed filling her brought Firiel's orgasm to a whole new level. They were truly one.

Within two thrusts, Fili was spent, and they both lay there, panting and bathing in the afterglow. Firiel could feel the remnants of their lovemaking beginning to drip out of her and down her bottom, but she was too exhausted to move, much less care. His weight crushing into her felt so sweet and surreal. Although soon it was too much.

"…Fili?"

"Mmm?"

He couldn't even form words. He didn't want to move. That had been too wonderful. She was too wonderful. How had he gotten this lucky?

"You're crushing me."

At that, they both laughed a little.

"Sorry about that," he smiled, pulling himself up on his elbows to look down at her, "I don't mean to crush you."

"Not to worry," she said, pecking his nose, "I don't mind it too much. It was just getting a little hard to breathe."

"Ah," he pecked her nose back, "Now that would be a problem."

He pulled out and rolled off of her, and Firiel shivered at the emptiness she suddenly felt, and the cold that immediately attacked her body. It was short lived, for soon Fili had her gathered up in his arms, pulling her on top of him as he lay back on the bed. The beds of men were always impressively large, so this simple twin bed had much more room for the two than it would for you or I.

So they lay there, Firiel's head resting on his chest as she ran her fingers through the thick blond hair that grew there, Fili stroking her back and playing with her curl. Firiel could hear his heartbeat. That strong, steady beating which increased in speed when he inhaled was like music to her. She wondered if this is what it was like for everyone. Being wrapped up in someone to the point that their heartbeat made you happy. She suddenly became aware of even more fluids dripping from her body and snickered a bit.

"Well there goes my bath," she snorted.

"Ah, it's alright," he said (and she could feel the words rumbling through his chest), "We'll just have to take one together."

Firiel looked up at him then and saw that he was smirking up at the ceiling. She jabbed her finger into his belly, and his muscles only twitched a bit at the assault. He looked down at her though, and she knew she was in trouble.

"Fili, don't you-AH!"

Before she could have finished her sentence, they were flipped over again, and she was having the living daylights tickled out of her. She screamed and squealed with laughter, to the point where she thought her sides were going to explode. Every time she opened her eyes to look at him, he was wearing the most devilish grin. He easily had her hands pinned up over her head, and Firiel found she could only kick and gasp for air. And grin just as wide at the whole experience.

"Alright! Alright! I give up!" she squealed, "Enough!"

Fili finally released her then, and she lay there, panting and giggling. It seemed he just really wanted her to sweat tonight. She soon fixed a fake glare on him though, trying her darndest not to smile.

"I do not appreciate that," she tried to glower, but found her silly grin breaking through.

"Well I do apologize, my lady," Fili bowed stuck his arms out and bowed with a teasing flourish, "I can assure you it won't happen again."

"Liar," Firiel muttered, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Careful," he swooped down to kiss her forehead, "Or I may have to teach your tongue some manners."

"Oh, you'd enjoy that way too much," Firiel swatted his shoulder playfully.

Fili nodded his head after a moment and rolled off of Firiel once again, this time grabbing the sheets and pulling them both under the covers. Firiel loved the way he could pick her up like she was almost nothing. She loved how strong he was.

Once they were settled, spooning beneath the sheets, Firiel found her mind wandering to an earlier thought she had had. As wonderful as all of this was, she still didn't know how in Earth they were going to continue their relationship. They reached Erebor tomorrow, and Thorin's intension was to rebuild the kingdom. What would that mean for them?

"Fili?"

"Yes?"

Firiel paused then, unsure of how to proceed into this conversation. She feared she might ruin their whole evening. Fili thought something might be wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, running his chin along the top of her head.

"Well, I was just…" she murmured, "We still haven't figured out how we're even going to be a "we" yet. How does this – us – work?"

Fili sighed, and Firiel felt his breath ruffling her curls. Fili pulled her even closer, her whole body flushed against him.

"I don't know," he whispered back, "I've been thinking about that myself."

"And?"

"Well, I'm not sure, really," he told her honestly, "I know, and Thorin has reminded me, that a dwarf king cannot take any wife unless she is a dwarf. That's how it as always been."

"Oh…"

Firiel felt her heart sink, and her hope for the future began to shrivel up slowly.

"But, just because you could never be my queen, it doesn't mean we have no options," Fili continued, "My great-grandfather never took a wife."

"How was it decided your grandfather would be king then?"

"Well, he had children with only one woman," he explained, "She was not noble by birth, but he loved her. And my grandfather was in fact his only child."

"So, if we had children, how would that work?"

"They could not take the throne, for they would not really be considered dwarves. It is the race of the mother our half-blooded children are identified by."

"Well, that's rather inconvenient. Given the general animosity towards dwarves, I take it they usual aren't welcomed by their mothers' races either?"

"I must admit, I hadn't really concerned myself with it before this conversation, but yes, that is generally how it is."

"…So, they would be all alone?"

"Oh no, not at all. As much as they are identified by their mothers' races, that only really matters when it comes down to affairs like…well, throne inheritance, really. That and other archaic political matters."

"So, let's see if I've got this right," Firiel turned towards him in his arms, "Essentially, a union between you and I would result in you having no queen and no heirs with any claim to the throne. I'm not a monarch, but, last time I checked, those were sort of important."

Fili laughed at that.

"It wouldn't be that I have no heirs," he smiled down at her, "Kili would take the throne after me, and his sons after him."

"You honestly think Kili will get married and have children?"

"While I admit that married is a stretch, children-."

"I see your point…And, if Kili had no children? Would you be forced to have children with someone else?"

Fili was shocked by the question, for it seemed a rather silly one to him. He looked into her eyes and saw it was not nearly so silly a question to her. She looked so serious, and he saw her bottom lip threatening to tremble.

"Never," he whispered with wide eyes, "Never would I have another but you. How could you ever think that?"

"Well, I don't know," Firiel replied, "I don't know a lot about dwarves. I know little enough of what I know about elves and men through my books, and I have none on dwarves. You're a rather secretive people. I didn't know if someone might suggest it or some such nonsense."

"No one would dare ask," he assured her, tucking some hair behind her ear, "We dwarves are a possessive people. We marry but one in our lives and not even death allows us to stray. Should another ever make advances towards you, you'll quickly come to find I am a very jealous man."

Firiel's mind wandered back to their time in Mirkwood, when Fili had, in his hypnotized state, attacked Ori. It suddenly made sense to her now, for Ori had been attracted to her, even though he was far too shy to ever act on it. It explained why he felt the need to hold and touch her. To stand beside her and keep near to her at all times. It was programmed into him. And she loved it.

"Are hobbits not like that?" he asked her, his eyes uncertain.

Did he fear she might someday stray?

"It differs from hobbit to hobbit, as a rule," she told him, "I know widows and widowers who've died alone after their husbands and wives died early, but women are very much pressured to remarry. Were my father to die, my mother might be forced to take another husband, simply because of the way hobbit culture is. Women live out their lives in the home, and are usually provided for after marriage."

"Really?" he seemed fascinated, "Our women continue on with their work after marriage and raise their children. Nothing really changes except that they're married with children."

"Really?" Firiel was equally fascinated, "That sounds so wonderful. No one gives them any trouble for it?"

"Why would anyone give them trouble for it?"

"Well, I never really knew," Firiel admitted with a laugh, "It seemed rather silly to me."

"Though, it's not unless in great need that they usually venture outside our cities," he told her, "There are so few of them that we cannot afford to lose any. Otherwise we might die out."

"Well, that makes sense," Firiel nodded, "There are so many hobbits that no one really fusses about such things."

"Really?"

"Really," Firiel told him, "We're quite a fertile race compared to most, is my understanding. My father is one of seven children."

"Seven?!" he seemed shocked, "How on Earth did his mother manage to have seven children?"

"You are asking the wrong woman," she said, "My mother and Uncle Bilbo are only two, which is a rather small number amongst hobbit families. But I feel it's a good number."

"Seven…" he murmured, still caught up by the number, "My mother could barely keep up with two of us…Do you think we might have seven children?"

"Absolutely not," Firiel stated plainly, "I forbid it."

"I think we could do it."

"I know we could do it. But hobbit babes are small. Imagine me giving birth to seven half-dwarf children. You're already so much bigger than I am!"

"Well I wasn't born this big," he laughed.

"I'm sure if I meet your mother, she'll tell me you were a bruiser."

"Don't you mean when?"

"Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves here?"

"We're talking about children and marriage, and you think meeting my mother qualifies as "getting ahead of ourselves"?"

Firiel sighed. He was stubborn as a mule. Wonderfully so.

"So, back to our earlier discussion, what will happen if Kili has no sons?"

"If Kili had no children, there is always Dain."

"Who's Dain?"

"Our cousin. He and his sons would be first in line should Kili and I ever fail to produce heirs."

"And Thorin would be alright with all that?"

"Probably not."

"Do we have any options that would involve not giving your uncle a brain aneurism?"

"None that don't involve him getting married and having his own children."

They both snorted at the thought. As if that would ever happen. Firiel closed her eyes, simply enjoying the feeling of lying so close to him. Suddenly, the thought of their future was not nearly so stressful. They could have one, and that was all that matter to her. Another thought came to Firiel suddenly, and it was not a pleasant one.

"You do know I'm not going to live very long, right?" she asked him, "Hobbits live maybe a hundred years, and dwarves live how long?"

"About two and a half centuries," Fili said, "But why does that matter?"

"Why does it matter?" Firiel was shocked by how casual he was being, "I'll grow old and die on you while you're still a spring chicken!"

"And?"

"Well, you said dwarves only take one wife," she explained, "One life partner. Our time together would be so fleeting. Do you really want someone you can't grow old with? I can't bear the thought of you living out your life alone."

"I told you, didn't I? I'll have only one, and I want it to be you. It has to be you. Nothing can ever change my mind."

He kissed her nose and tucked her beneath his chin, and that seemed to be the end of it. Firiel was in shock for a moment. He said that didn't matter. Had he even thought about what that meant? She soon came to realize that he must have. Fili was not stupid. He was not nearly so young as she was either, though they appeared to be around the same age. He knew very well how long she would live. And, if he said it didn't matter to him, she simply had to trust that. Firiel drifted off into a dreamless sleep that night, safe in the arms of her lover.

Fili (who remained awake long after Firiel had fallen asleep) had indeed thought about her short life, and found the thought filling him with just as much sadness as it had many times before. It was too late now to love another. It had been too late since he had met her. As he traced his still bandaged hand over the curve of her waist, he began to think less of their long-term possibilities, and more of their immediate future.

Tomorrow, they would head to Erebor to reclaim the Arkenstone, and soon reclaim the home of his ancestors. He would help his uncle to take back their homeland. Help him reclaim his throne. And then what? Would Thorin really allow him to build a life with her? He doubted it. The only reason the king still allowed them any closeness at all was because he had made her Fili's charge on their journey. He had told himself it didn't matter whether or not Thorin approved, but that childish thought was paling in the face of the reality that had finally come to loom down over them. Thorin would be king of a mighty empire, and he would have the power to separate them for all of eternity if he saw fit.

The steady push and pull of Firiel's breathing against his chest brought him back to the present. To this moment with her. He wondered if he should head to his own room, so as to avoid suspicion. He immediately pushed the thought aside. Kili would cover for him. And he wanted to wake up to her beautiful face, just as he had grown so accustomed to doing throughout their journey.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, Firiel awoke to the sound of knocking. She opened her eyes to be greeted by the sight of Fili's chest hair. It hadn't been a dream. He was really here. It was also still dark, and Firiel was not impressed. She groaned and tried to tuck herself into Fili even more, but the knocking persisted. A rumble ran through Fili's chest, and Firiel knew then that he was awake.

"Fili!" she heard Kili whisper-shouting through the door, "Fili! Are you there?"

Fili growled and tucked Firiel further under his chin. He had no intention of getting out of bed. Kili could wait a few minutes for him to lie there with her.

"Go away," he muttered sleepily.

"Get up! Come on! Thorin'll be up any minute!"

At the mention of Thorin, Fili and Firiel were both wide awake. What trouble they would be in if Thorin caught them curled up in bed together, naked as the day they had been born. They removed themselves from one another and scrambled out of bed, running off to get dressed. Firiel's clothes had been placed over a small wooden chair in the room, so she didn't have to run around in search of them like Fili did. She also didn't wear shoes, so that was a time saver. She quickly pulled on her undergarment and ran off to help Fili find his clothing. His tunic had been thrown down by the window, and his boots were there as well. But where were his pants? Firiel finally spotted them, kicked off near the door, and ran to grab them for him. She threw them at him with great force, and he caught them with ease, pulling them on quickly. Firiel ran back to her chair and was dressed even fast than Fili. She took off to the door and let Kili in just as Fili finished doing up his belt.

"Moring, Firiel my darling," Kili grinned knowingly as he strode in, "You look absolutely ravishing today. Fancied a lay-in before you faced the fire-breathing dragon, did you?"

"Piss off," Fili snapped, now fully dressed and taking off out the door past his brother, "Where's my dagger?"

"Sitting on the chair," Kili laughed at his back, "You two are lucky Thorin's on the other side of the inn. I could hear it all last night."

"And you would do well to forget every sound," Fili quipped before disappearing into their room.

Kili snorted at his brother. He was going to be far too much fun to tease. Firiel giggled a bit at the two of them before she turned her eyes on Kili. He looked almost as if he hadn't slept.

"You look awful," she told him, "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"Of course I am," Kili brushed her off, "I've been waiting my whole life for this, and I'm not about to miss it."

"That's not what I-."

"I'm glad to see you've found everything, brother," Kili cut her off as Fili returned to them, dagger on his belt and ready to go.

"I'm glad to see you haven't lost your impeccable sense of timing," Fili said with a withering look, and then turned his eyes to her, "You ready?"

Firiel looked back and forth between the two, and soon turned to gather all her things. Shoving all her articles into her pack, she pulled out her hair strap and slung it on to her shoulders. She turned to see that Kili had gone on ahead. Fili stood leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a smile that made her heart flutter.

"Can I help you?" she asked him.

"Not unless you can somehow give us a few extra hours before we have to go," he told her, "We never did get that bath in."

Firiel smirked at him as she tied back her hair. She padded towards him in the darkness and laid a kiss on his cheek before she strode out past him.

"There'll be plenty of time for that once we've reclaimed Erebor," she said.

* * *

Once they reached the lobby downstairs, Firiel saw that there were soldiers waiting for them with breastplates and other pieces of armour. The others were mostly dressed and ready to go, and Fili took off towards Kili to receive his own armour. Firiel knew it would all be too big, and looked around for Bilbo. When she finally spotted him, she nearly died.

"Uncle, what on Earth have they got you in?" Firiel laughed.

Poor Bilbo had been dressed in a red cape and a silly metal helmet that was clearly far too large for him. The cape seemed to swallow him whole, and it made her uncle look like a little munchkin.

"Do not ever breathe a word of this to anyone, young lady," he whispered dangerously, "I mean it."

Firiel couldn't contain her graceless little chortles, and soon had to bend over with her hands on her knees. She could breathe a little easier that way. She soon felt someone trying to place a similar cape on her shoulder and immediately dropped to the floor and crawled away. In the pile of dwarves and the darkness of morning, the soldier who had been trying to dress her quickly lost track of her. Firiel re-emerged nearly Kili, Fili, and Thorin, and found that the sight of them nearly took her breathe away. These dwarves had been made to wear grand armour, and one could see the stateliness that had been bred into them in their handsome features. They truly looked like kings. Fili was the first to spot her and smiled.

"How do we look?" he asked her.

Firiel tried a couple times to form words, but she couldn't. With his long hair hanging down his back, two new swords to his waist, and a chest piece that seemed nearly made for him, Fili looked like a god. A warrior king. It actually made her gaze down at what she was wearing rather self-consciously. Perhaps she should let them put a cape on her.

"She's speechless," Kili's joking tone brought her back, "I guess we clean up pretty good."

Firiel, as she looked between them, began to wonder what it was she had just signed up for. He looked the part of a king, and he would be one someday. Would she always look so out of place standing next to him? Like a small country bumpkin who didn't really belong? Fili waited until Thorin took off to help the others prepare to approach her. He was before her in a single stride, one hand on her shoulder and the other under her chin. Firiel allowed him to guide her eyes to his own.

"Is everything alright?" he asked her.

"Oh, yes, everything's fine," she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "I'm actually just wondering if I should let them put one of those silly cloaks on me."

Firiel could see he didn't quite believe her, but he had no time to comment on it.

"Is everyone ready?" Thorin asked.

The company chorused positively. Firiel felt her heart slide up into her throat. This was it. And, to her own disbelief, she had never been more excited for anything. Except for last night, maybe.

"Our supplies are waiting for us at the docks, and we must reach the mountain by nightfall. Move out!"

* * *

"You do know we're one short," Bilbo said to her as they headed towards the little boat, "Where's Bofur?"

"He's not here, we leave him behind," Thorin called back.

"We'll have to, if we're to find the door before nightfall," Balin agreed, "We can risk no more delays."

There was a crowd gathered around the docks to watch them prepare and bid them goodbye. The dwarves were quick to hop in the boat, and began to take supplies from the soldiers. Fili stepped in and reached back to take Firiel's hand and help her in. Food and weapons were quickly being loaded in, and Firiel had a feeling they would end up leaving most of it behind when they reached the foot of the mountain. Balin had said they could afford no more delays and, watching the way most of the dwarves tumbled around in the heavy armour, she wondered how much of all this nonsense it was that Thorin actually needed.

Suddenly, Thorin put his arm out to stop Kili from entering the dingy.

"Not you," he said as he took weapons that a soldier offered him, "We must travel at great speed. You will slow us down."

As Thorin passed the spears down to Fili, Kili smiled at his uncle.

"What are you talking about?" Kili asked, "I'm coming with you."

"No you're not," Thorin insisted.

That seemed to catch Fili's attention, and he turned to look on with her. Kili looked as though he might cry.

"I'm going to be there when that door is opened," he said, "When we first look upon the halls of our father's-."

"Kili," Thorin said gently, putting his arm around his nephew, "Stay here. Rest. Join us when you're healed."

While Firiel agreed with Thorin's judgment, the look on Kili's face made her heart break. He looked betrayed. Had Thorin promised he would be among the first to see Erebor? Kili turned to sit down, dejected, and Oin hopped out to stay with Kili and watch him.

"Uncle," Fili said to Thorin, "We grew up on tales of the mountain. Tales you told us. You cannot take that away from him!"

"Fili-." Thorin tried to speak.

"I will carry him if I must!"

"One day you will be king and you will understand," Thorin told him, "I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the sake of one dwarf. Not even my own kin."

Not even for his kin? Fili was shocked. Thorin had helped his mother to raise them on a steady diet of familial loyalty and trust for as long as Fili could remember. Kili had always been his to look after. His only brother. Firiel and Fili looked to one another, and Firiel saw the look in his eyes when he looked back at Kili. He could not go without his brother.

"Go," she whispered.

Fili looked down at her, shocked. Was she really planning on venturing out to fight a dragon without him? He looked at her and knew that she knew. Kili was his brother, after all. Firiel had her own siblings, and if they could not venture to something so important to all of them, that she would stay behind with them.

"Kili needs you more than we do," she smiled at him, and this one did reach her eyes, "I'll be fine."

Fili saw that her decision was final, and he smiled at her, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. He knew she could handle it. She was far stronger than many of the others gave her credit for. Fili leapt out of the boat and took off towards Kili. Thorin saw him going and grabbed his arm.

"Fili," he snapped, "Don't be a fool. You belong with the company."

"I belong with my brother," Fili shot back.

This seemed to stun Thorin into letting go. Fili had never been so bold with him before. Fili ripped himself from Thorin's grasp and stalked towards Kili and Oin. One look at his brother, and Fili knew Firiel had been right; Kili needed him. Firiel watched the two, and, as the trumpets blared, she suddenly remembered something. Pulling her pack from her shoulders, Firiel dug into the most firmly buttoned pocket and pulled out a single Star Seed. She slung her pack back on and jumped out of the dingy, running toward the brothers as the master began his parting speech.

"Fili," the moment she said his name, he turned to her, "Take this."

She slid the seed into his palm, and Fili looked at her quizzically.

"What is it?"

"It's one of the seeds Beorn gave me. From the Star Tree. Look, I know it's a longshot," Firiel paused to try and find the right words, "It might not even actually work. But, if it does, it could be very powerful and should only be used if there are no other options left. And I pray it never comes down to that.

"But, if it does, give it to him," she said, closing Fili's fingers around it.

Fili looked into her eyes then, and saw she was serious. Those seeds had been a gift, for her to use. He had little doubt they worked, from the constant kindness Beorn had shown her. But there was doubt nonetheless. Still, he had heard stories of them himself, read histories of quests to find them, and knew their power to be great, if true. Should anything happen to her, they could save her life. And she was giving one of them to him. Not even for him to use, but for his brother. He was touched by her selflessness.

"Thank you," he breathed.

He gave her a quick and gentle kiss on the forehead.

"Come back to me," he whispered against her skin.

"As long as you do me the same courtesy," she whispered in turn, "Be careful."

"That's my line," he chuckled.

He brought her hands up to give them a quick kiss before Firiel took off towards the boat. Their interaction was not lost on Thorin, who scowled at them. Their relationship had changed, and he could see it plain as day. What had he told Fili? There was no life for them in his nephew's future. Dwarves had only one mate, and he had chosen her? What spell did that little witch have on his nephew? He watched as several of his men quickly reached for her delicate hands to help her into the boat, and his rage only deepened. What sort of dark seduction had she been employing on them all since the start of their journey? The moment her feet touched the dingy, Firiel nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Thorin's voice.

"You," Thorin boomed, "Out of the boat!"

"What?"

Firiel was a little stunned. Was he serious? When she did not move, Thorin quickly grew impatient and began to stalk towards her. The dwarves parted for him like the red sea, not wanting to become the object of Thorin's wrath.

"You heard me, out!"

"Thorin-," Bilbo tried to stand between them as Thorin advanced on Firiel, but was quickly pushed aside into Balin.

"He will not go?" Thorin muttered to himself.

Thorin was nearly on her then, and Firiel shrank back as the darkness she had felt the night before descended upon her senses once more. Thorin was not pleased, nor was he himself. And that frightened her greatly.

Thorin felt only anger. He had just been defied by Fili yet again, and he was quickly losing patience for it. The boy would stay with his brother? He would throw away the chance to reclaim his homeland? He would defy Thorin yet again? And his insolence had all started with this girl. He wanted to throw away his chance for a proper kingdom for a fleeting life with the she-hobbit? Fine. Thorin would show him what isolation that would mean for them both. Thorin grabbed Firiel by her forearm like a panther crushing a songbird between its jaws. Firiel squeaked at the sheer force with which he had taken hold of her, and that immediately drew Fili's attention. He turned in time to witness as Thorin dragged Firiel right up out of the boat and nearly threw her into him. Fili quickly nudged Oin, and the two caught her easily, both staring at Thorin in disbelief.

"Uncle, what on Earth-?"

"You want to throw away your life? Fine," Thorin snarled at Fili before turning back towards the boat, "This little whore stays with you. I will not have this woman distracting my men and slowing us down even further."

Oin (deaf as anything) did not hear him, and, after helping Fili to set Firiel upright, turned back to fussing over Kili. Fili and Firiel sure heard him though. As had the others, from the looks on their faces. They were shocked. Bilbo looked at his niece, and he turned his eyes on Thorin, disbelieving and incensed by his cruelty. When he opened his mouth to berate Thorin, Balin placed and hand on Bilbo's shoulder and shook his head. It would not help the young pair for Bilbo to anger Thorin further, and they both knew it.

Judgement, shock, and pity lay on every face in the boat, and Firiel was utterly and horrifically humiliated. She felt tears beginning to burn at her eyes. She turned away from them and into Fili's arms just as the first tears rolled down her cheeks. She murmured an apology when her hot, deep breathes fogged his armour as she tried to calm herself, but Fili didn't care about something so trivial. Only about her. Instead of helplessness at her tears, Fili felt rage as he held her. How dare Thorin? He would shame and insult her in front of their companions? Take his anger at Fili out on Firiel? The more he saw of Thorin in action these days, the less he admired him the way he had as a boy. Who was this man who stood as Thorin? Because he most certainly was not the Thorin he knew.

As the dingy pushed off though, and the crowd cheered, it seemed many in the boat forgot in incident entirely, and waved at the cheering crowd as they bid them adieu. The four who were left watched them go, all in different states about the whole affair. Fili was angry, Firiel and Kili were upset, and Oin was Oin. The crowd soon gathered around them and jostled the four about as they watched the dingy go down the canal. By the time they were long gone, Bofur burst through the crowd. He looked around and spotted them, sighing in relief.

"Did you miss the boat as well?" he asked.

Before either of them could reply, Kili began to topple over. That was a new development.

"Kili?' Fili called to his brother as he caught him, "Kili!"

Kili groaned in pain as Fili and Oin steadied him. Bofur pushed his way through to help them, for Kili was growing more and more pale by the instant. Firiel looked down towards his wounded knee and saw his torn trousers and bandages were covered in black ooze. Last time she checked, Kili didn't bleed black ooze.

"Look," she called over the cheering crowd, getting down on her knees for a closer look.

Firiel took out her knife and used it to try and peel away the stuck on pants and bandages. She had just removed the top part, and reeled away at the smell, placing the bandage back immediately. It was like rotting fish and burning flesh. She put her hand over her mouth, coughing and gagging on the scent. The crowd was soon jostling them about, and their cheering was making her ears ring. She looked away from the festering wound and back up at the dwarves.

"What is that?" she yelled up to her companions.

Oin looked down to Kili's knee and a look of panic crossed his face.

"It's infected," the old dwarf yelled.

"But we never had to remove the arrowhead," Fili called, "It was a clean wound! Why is it infected this way?"

"I don't know, but we need help," Bofur cried.

Firiel stood and looked around frantically. As the crowd began to dissipate, she spotted Alfred and the master. Surely they would help them. Firiel nodded her companions after her and shot off through the crowd. The master and Alfred were down from the platform and turning back towards the master's house.

"Wait!" Firiel called out to him, "Wait! Please!"

The master and Alfred turned to look at them, and something was not right. The welcoming man who could not have been more accommodating was gone, and he looked down at them with the same expression he had regarded Bard with the night before. Sly and malicious contempt.

"Bugger off little spriteling," Alfred snapped, "The master has no time for you."

"Please, we need help," Fili came along with the others, "Please, my brother is ill."

"We just need a doctor, that's all we need," Firiel begged, "Please. Please! You said you would help us!"

At that, the master smiled down at her. A patronizing, snake-like smile.

"I said I would help your king to reclaim the mountain," he said, looking them over quickly, "I never said I would help any of you."

Firiel was stunned. Kili was sick, he could be dying. And this bastard wouldn't help them.

"You speak to the future king of Erebor," Oin snarled, nodding his head towards Fili, "Mind yourself."

"If he's future king, what's he doing here?" Alfred sneered, "Wouldn't a future king be off to claim his kingdom?"

The four glared up at the master and Alfred. The two men simply turned and walked off, and Firiel's shock turned to rage.

"You sneaky, spineless, no good, lying, son of a-!"

"Firiel," Bofur took her shoulder before she could run off, "It's not worth it, lass. We need you here more than we need you in irons."

"We'll have to find a doctor without him," Fili said

And so they tried. And they tried and they tried to get help from someone. But all the people around the docks, who had been so quick to cheer when wealth was mentioned, looked down at them in disgust and wandered on. Most wouldn't even acknowledge them. Soon the docks were clear, the sun was high in the sky, and not a single person remained around to help them. They tried to go back to the inn, but they were turned away with unfairly placed disdain. Kili didn't look like he could hold on much longer.

"We need help," Fili muttered, never once taking his eyes off his brother.

A thought came to Firiel suddenly. She knew exactly where they could turn.

"Bard," she said to them, "Bard will help us."

The others looked at her like she was crazy.

"Are you daft?" Oin grunted.

"We haven't the time for that, Lass," Bofur brushed it off, "He won't help us."

"Yes, he will. He's a good man," she insisted, "I've seen it. We all have."

"What makes you so sure?" Fili asked her gently, "You saw the way he cried out against our quest. We've defied him and chosen to enter the mountain. He'll turn us away with more hatred than the rest of them."

"Well, _we_ are not going to the mountain, now are we?" Firiel said, "Besides, what choice do we have?"

At that, the three were silent. But the legendary stubbornness of dwarves meant that they were not won yet. Firiel sighed.

"Please," she said, "Please, you're just going to have to trust me."

That was it then. Fili looked up at her, desperate and won.

"Alright," he nodded, readjusting Kili in his arms, "Let's go."

* * *

The sun had nearly set by the time they managed to find Bard's house again. They took turns carrying Kili. Firiel even managed to carry him a few times, and the others were impressed by her strength. They knocked on the door, and there was no reply. Bofur continued though, pounding on the door as hard as he could. Bard had to be home. They were out of options.

Soon, the door swung open, and Bard was glaring at them. He disgusted by their presence.

"No, no!" he snapped, "I'm done with dwarves! Go away!"

Bard moved to slam his door shut, but Bofur threw himself at it, tugging it back. Bard looked utterly incensed.

"No!" Bofur cried, "No, please! No one will help us! Kili's sick!"

Bofur turned to look back at Kili, and Bard followed his gaze. Kili looked awful. Like death was nipping at his heels. Bard's eyes went wide at the sight of him.

"He's very sick," Bofur said.

Bard stared down at them, seemingly at war with himself. Did he help these people who sought to bring him and his home to ruin for gold?

"Please, you're our only hope," Firiel begged him, "They're left us behind with him, but we don't have anywhere to treat him."

"We don't know what to do," Bofur agreed.

"No one would even stop to look at us," Firiel gave a bitter little laugh, "We couldn't find a doctor anywhere. Please! You're all we have left."

At that, Bard sighed. Curse his bleeding heart.

"Bring him in," he growled, holding the door wider for them, "Put him on the bed in the back."

They quickly piled in to the house, Fili dragging Kili all the way. As she passed him, Firiel paused to look up at Bard. He seemed rather out of sorts about his decision. As if he were thinking that he had to be out of his mind. She smiled at him.

"Thank you," she murmured.

At that, Bard grunted, heading back towards his little kitchen area. Bard's children watched them from their beds and the kitchen, surprised to see that they had returned. Firiel nodded at them briefly before heading towards the bed they had Kili on. Bofur knocked his leg by accident, and Kili nearly screamed. Fili tried to sooth his brother, but Kili seemed to be in an inconsolable fit. The dwarves quickly discarded their packs and armour and gathered around Kili as he wailed.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked them over the noise.

"Get some hot water," Oin commanded her, "We'll try to cut off his bandages in the meantime."

"I'll get the water," Bofur told Oin, "Miss Firiel has wee hands. She'd be better for the fine work than us."

Bofur took off towards Bard's oldest girl and soon they had a full kettle sitting on the fire. Firiel was quick to follow Bofur's suggestion and pulled her pack from her shoulders, digging out some clean bandages. She drew her knife and moved towards Kili, but Oin's voice stopped her.

"I don't know about that," Oin was eying her suspiciously, "Have you any medical training?"

"No, but-."

"Then why should you-?"

"No, Bofur's right," Fili turned on Oin, his tone firm and final, "She's the best one for it. Besides, I've seen your handy work."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Oin cried.

"Enough," Firiel got down between them, "That's enough, both of you. I'll do it."

Once she was on her knees, Firiel got in close to Kili's wound. Now that there was no wind to blow away the stench, she could smell it in its full glory. And it was putrid. She had never smelled anything more rancid in her entire life. The bandage was covered in even more of that awful sludge, and Firiel knew that the wound couldn't even be clotting then. She carefully took her knife placed it along the inside of Kili's leg. She managed to slide through the bandage, and watched as all but what covered the affected area fell limp. This was it. All she had to do was peel it off.

"Hold him," she ordered, pushing up her sleeves, "I don't know what he'll do when I start to pull. There may be some open flesh stuck to it."

Fili and Oin bore their weight down on Kili's thighs and ankles. Firiel began to slowly peel away the bandage. The first little section she managed to get was simply stuck to him from the ooze, and she watched as it tried to pull the foul cloth back to his knee. It wasn't until he gave a horrific scream that she knew she had reached the wound. White puss and red blood came up with the ooze, and she even saw bits of scabbing and dead skin coming up with it. Fili and Oin were nearly thrown off by Kili's instinctual struggling, but Firiel was quicker than her patient, and managed to move the bandage around with him without tearing on him further.

"Hold him still!" she snapped, "At this rate, I'll only make it worse!"

Oin and Fili managed to force Kili down after a moment, and Firiel returned to her steady removal. Bard and his children were watching from their kitchen, preparing their dinner as if this were an everyday occurrence. Bofur soon returned with the hot water and a small cloth, and Firiel was relieved to see him. A few more gentle tugs and Firiel had the bandage completely removed. She could hardly see the actual wound through all the gunk that was covering it. She quickly set to work sawing away any of the fabric of his trousers that had been contaminate. She traded the bandages and pant scraps for the bowl and turned back to Kili. This was going to take more than one scrub.

"Lift his leg a bit," Firiel said, "And Bofur, bring the whole kettle. Someone open this window here too. We're going to need a few rounds of washing."

The dwarves did as they were ordered. Bofur brought back the kettle, and Oin opened the window by the bed as Fili gently raised Kili's leg. Firiel put the bowl underneath it and brought the cloth up to Kili's leg. She wrung the water out over it, and Kili hissed through his teeth. Fili had his leg in good hands though, and prevented him from moving as Firiel began to mop up the blood and slime. Two rinses and the water was black. Oin tossed it out the window, and Bofur filled the bowl again. They repeated this process about seven times (with two kettle refills and three new cloths to boot) before Kili's wound was finally clean. Firiel gently wrapped it in the clean bandages as Oin threw the water out the window. Kili, though still pale, seemed to be doing a bit better.

Suddenly, there was a mighty crash that rang throughout the small home. The sound caused Firiel's hands to slip, and reopened Kili's wound, causing him to cry out in pain. Ooze, blood, and puss rolled out, and it was suddenly as if she had never cleaned it at all. Dust rang down from the ceiling, and the vibrations made them all look up in curiosity and fear. She, Fili and Oin looked to one another, and Firiel could see that the dwarves knew what that could be. She soon realized as well.

"Da?" she heard Bard's oldest, Sigrid, calling to Bard.

"It's coming from the mountain," his son cried.

Had they awoken the dragon? Firiel felt her blood chill at the thought. Fili turned back towards the bowman's family as Kili cried out in pain. He knew all too well what that sound was. These people had been so kind to them. This man had a family; he had his children. He deserved so badly to live.

"You should leave us," he said to Bard as he made his way towards him, "Take your children. Get out of here."

"And go where?" Bard asked him, his eyes full of pain and knowing, "There is nowhere to go."

Fili stopped short at that, and realized he was right. If they dragon were to descend upon them, how could they hide? Bard's children looked to him in despair.

"Are we going to die, Da?" the little girl asked him.

Bard turned kind, soothing eyes on her then.

"No, Tilda darling," he whispered with a smile.

"The dragon," the little girl, Tilda, knew he was lying, "It's going to kill us."

Bard looked on his children for a moment, and, though Firiel could not see his face, she saw his shoulders straighten in defiance. They would not die. He looked up to the nettings that hung about their kitchen table and ripped something down from them. It was a large, black, steel arrow. It was rusted with age, and the length of Firiel's whole body, she was sure. Bard looked back at his children, who stared at him in amazement.

"Not if I kill it first," he decreed.

"Stay here," he ordered them as he took up his coat, "Bain, come with me."

Bard and his son took off out the door, leaving them there with the girls. Kili's moaning turned their attention back to him, and soon they were cleaning his wounds madly once again.

"Bofur, you know herbs. Find us something to fix this," Fili cried.

"Like what?" Bofur asked him.

"Anything!" Firiel snapped, "Just go!"

At that, Bofur was out the door. After nearly an hour, Firiel could not believe what she was seeing. His wound was not closing, and still that black sludge pulsed from it. Kili was going to bleed out at this rate. She suddenly had a memory come upon her.

"Fili, where's the seed I gave you?"

Fili, in their panic over his brother, had also forgotten about it. He quickly began to search his pockets for it. His search was interrupted though, for there was a mighty roar from outside. Sigrid screamed and tried to slam the door, and Fili saw a crude Morgul sword poking its way through. They were under attack, by orcs.

Bain (who had returned at some point) and Tilda shrieked at the sight. Soon, another orc burst in through the back kitchen door. Oin threw his new batch of boiling water in the creature's face as another one crashed through the ceiling. Sigrid screamed as she back away from the door, throwing herself out of the way just in time to avoid losing her head. Fili managed to cross the house and tackle the orc back into the doorframe as Sigrid slid across their bench and fell underneath the table. At that, Firiel was up and off towards Bain and Tilda.

"Get under the table with your sister," she ordered them.

She and Bain managed to pull Tilda towards the table, but Firiel stopped short when Fili was throw back across the room. She wanted to move to him, but another orc crashing through the ceiling next to them brought her back. Fili could handle himself. She had to protect these children. As the orc brought down its club, she managed to produce a frying pan as a shield, bracing herself against it as Sigrid pulled Tilda under the table. Firiel didn't even know how she had withstood the blow, but she had. She managed to push the club away, and dove aside just in time for Bain to slam the kitchen bench up into the creature. Another orc crashed down through the ceiling and onto the table, and Firiel was having none of that. She grabbed two more large pans off the floor and slid under the table, handing them to the girls.

"Anything come towards you, you hit it!" she ordered.

The table was soon lifted off of them, and Firiel stood, placing herself between them and the orc. This one had an ax, and Firiel knew she would not be able to block it with her fuuny alone. Her whole body would be the only thing that would do.

Thankfully, it didn't come down to that. The assaulting orc was stabbed through the back, and Firiel saw as the creature fell that it was Tauriel. This she-elf could not have any better timing. The beast tumbled to the ground, and the girls continued to scream. Firiel grabbed up the creature's ax and held it to the ready. Soon Oin had joined them, helping her to shield the girls from any attack. She quickly saw that the blond elf, Legolas, was with them as well, and killing off orcs with great skill and gusto. The two elves were incredibly impressive, killing off orc after orc.

"Get down," she heard Fili say.

Soon, he and Bain were crouched down beside them, Fili placing himself over the boy as Tauriel killed an orc just by their heads. The three siblings quickly crawled together, huddling and weeping in fright as the fighting continued. Firiel and Fili looked to one another, and were equal parts puzzled and amazed. Had Tauriel and Legolas followed them here? Kili gave a great cry of pain, and their attention turned to that. They looked to see Kili sprawled out on the floor, writhing and crying out in agony.

There were shouts in Black Speech, and suddenly the orcs began to fall back. As the orcs fled the house, they all began to stand. Fili and Firiel rushed to Kili, who lay panting on the ground. Tauriel was nearly paralyzed by the sight, watching him. Bain looked at Legolas, utterly amazed.

"You killed them all," the boy murmured.

"There are others," Legolas told him as he sheathed his twin blades, "Tauriel, come."

Tauriel seemed startled by Legolas' voice, and stared up at him. Oin was with them then, and placed his hand on Kili's chest.

"We're losing him," the old dwarf cried.

Fili's eyes went wide, and all the colour began to drain from his face. Firiel thought he might faint, and urged him to sit for a moment.

"Tauriel," she heard Legolas call.

Tauriel started out after Legolas, but stopped short in the doorway when Kili cried out, looking back at them. Firiel had no time to pay attention though.

"What can we do?" she asked Oin.

"Nothing," the old dwarf said, "Nothing but pray."

"Maybe we could try-."

"I can save him."

They all looked up towards the doorway then. Bofur had returned, and Tauriel stood there with him, clutching a bright green herb with small white flowers. She looked at Kili with such concern and affection that Firiel trusted her claim immediately. Tauriel would not lie to them about this. The others did not seem so sure.

"How can we trust you?" Fili asked her.

Firiel knew it did not come from a place of contempt, but that did not change the distrust that dripped from his every word. Kili cried out again, and Fili looked down to his brother, taking his hand. Kili's eyes were red-rimmed and his lips were white. Firiel had never seen such a thing before.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked Tauriel.

"He's been poisoned," she said softly, "By a Morgul shaft. And I know how to save him."

"Then do it," Fili said to the she-elf, "Please, save my brother."

At that, they were off. Tauriel had Tilda bring her a bowl to crush the herb in while Firiel and Sigrid set the dining table upright. Fili, Oin, and Bofur lifted Kili off the ground, and brought him over to the table, laying him down on it as gently as possible. That didn't prevent Kili from screaming. Kili was writhing and fight his companions every step of the way, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. Firiel dove right in there, trying to help the men wrestle Kili down to the table.

"Hold him down," Tauriel told them.

"Thank you for the obvious instruction!" Firiel muttered as Kili practically lifted her from the ground by his good leg.

They finally managed to wrestle him down as Tauriel grabbed hold of his leg, examining it with great care. Fili held Kili by his shoulders, watching Tauriel with great suspicion the whole time. Kili could not hold on much longer. Tauriel began to rub the herbs between her hands, muttering in what Firiel could only presume to be Elvish. It was like some strange, religious ceremony.

When Tauriel pressed the herbs into Kili's knee, he screamed again, his voice going horse and his whole body seemingly gaining a new strength. Firiel and Oin were having a great deal of trouble holding his legs down. Sigrid soon joined them though, and she called Tilda to assist them. Tauriel continued her chanting, rubbing the herbs into Kili's wound. Kili seemed to be struggling less, and his breathing began to even out. He didn't cry out nearly as often, and stopped struggling almost completely. Soon, they did not have to hold him at all, and Kili simply lay there, panting and staring at Tauriel as if hypnotized. She stared back, and it seemed as if they were the only two in the room. Firiel wondered briefly if this was part of the healing work, but the way Kili was looking at Tauriel told her otherwise.

Soon, Kili's eyes were bright again, but drained. Fili continued to pet his brother's head as Kili drifted off into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Firiel came up beside them to place her hands on Fili's shoulders, rubbing them as he leaned back against her on the bench to shut his eyes, thoroughly exhausted. Firiel turned her eyes to Tauriel, who was wiping her hands in a cloth Tilda had brought for her.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"Nothing, for now," Tauriel told her, "He is safe."

Fili looked up at the she-elf, nothing but reverence and gratitude on his face.

"Thank you," he said, "Thank you so much."

Tauriel simply smiled at him, and moved on to cleaning Kili's knee. Firiel suddenly remembered something. The seed. Where had Fili put it? She took off from them then, and rushed off towards the pile of belongings she and the dwarves had thrown down. She dug into a pocket on the inside of his breastplate, and immediately pulled it out. The one pocket he hadn't gotten the chance to check. When Firiel returned to them, Fili saw what she had in her hand and nearly laughed.

"I can't believe we forgot about that," he chuckled.

That little thing could have saved them some trouble, if it really worked.

"Hey, we had bigger fish to fry than an ambiguously legitimate seed," Firiel said.

Tauriel saw the seed in her hands as well, and stared at it open-mouthed.

"Ered en' i' Elen Orn," she murmured, staring at Firiel, "How came you by this?"

"It was a gift," she answered simply, "Why? What do you know about them?"

"Only that they are of great power," Tauriel whispered, coming to her side to stare at the seed in her palm, "I have not seen one in well over four hundred years."

"Four hundred years?" Firiel asked her, shocked, "Why so long?"

"The tree was rare to begin with," Tauriel explained, "They only ever grew in the Greenwood. During the Great War, King Thranduil ordered all these trees in our forests to be burned. Most of my kin in the Woodland Realm have never even seen them. These trees were sacred to us, for elves love best the light of the stars, but their power was too great to be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy. The Eldar did not receive him kindly for this, but that is only rumour, I am told.

"These seeds are very hard to preserve, and their magic is very real. Whoever gave these to you cared for you very deeply," Tauriel smiled.

A flicker of possessive jealousy passed through Fili, but it was short lived. Firiel turned to smile back at him then, and he found his heart growing light. She thanked Tauriel and pocketed the seed. Now she knew that they worked. She wondered briefly how Beorn had even gotten hold of them. Firiel wandered back to Fili and slid tiredly into his arms. She could only imagine how exhausted Kili was. She stared at Tauriel bandaging Kili, and a thought suddenly crossed her mind.

"Tauriel, would it be able to fix his knee straight away?" she asked.

"That would be a near waste of its magic at this point," the she-elf told her as she wiped her hands in a rag, "His leg will heal quickly. For now, he is out of danger, and just needs to rest."

"How long will it take before he can move though?"

"He should be fine by morning, I imagine. As long as we keep him still."

Fili and Firiel nodded, and resumed their brief moments of rest. They soon saw the children were cleaning up their house. They looked at one another and knew they should help them. The place was in ruins. They left Kili in Tauriel's capable hands, and pulled themselves to their feet, picking up dishes and things that had been strewn about the floor. They made their way to the kitchen, and Oin wandered up to them.

"I'd heard tell of the wonders of elvish medicine," the old man said as he squeezed by them, "That was a privilege to witness."

Fili looked towards Tauriel and his brother, and Firiel followed his gaze. Kili, it seemed, was awake.

"Tauriel," he murmured.

Tauriel immediately turned to look at him, clearly unaware that Firiel and Fili were spying on them from behind the stove.

"Lie still," she told him with a gentle smile before going back to bandaging him.

"You cannot be her," Kili nearly whispered.

At that, Tauriel gave pause. Kili continued, his voice breathy and dazed, yet no less sincere in his every word.

"She is far away. She-she's far, far away from here. She walks in starlight in another world."

Tauriel turned to look at him then, her eyes unreadable. She turned back to her work after a moment, but Kili did not stop there.

"It's just a dream," he nearly sobbed.

Firiel could see from her place that Kili reached for Tauriel's hand. The elf maid remained perfectly still, though her fingers reached back ever so slightly. When Kili grasped her hand, he looked up at her again.

"Do you think she could have loved me?"

Tauriel turned to look at him then, and their eyes met in a way that Firiel wondered if she should give them some privacy. Tauriel almost smiled at him, fighting to reign in the grin that threatened to spill forth. As Kili drifted back into unconsciousness, Firiel's delightful eavesdropping was interrupted by a little snort that Fili gave to her left. Firiel gave his gut a good-natured, yet hard smack at that. Fili doubled a bit at the force, wearing a Cheshire cat grin that told her he had done it to bother her. Oin had left them in the kitchen to go help the children clean up beams in the far corner.

"You leave it alone," she whispered, "I think they're adorable, and nothing you say or do will ever change my mind. That was probably the sweetest thing I've ever witnessed."

"You like pretty words, do you?" he smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in close, "I never took you to be the type for such things."

"Oh please, every word you ever breathe to me is like a poem you've been writing for years," she teased, "You're just like your brother. Shameless flirt."

"Only for you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Suddenly, from the mountain, there came a mighty boom which shook the Earth. It the house the house tremble and rocked some of the dishes from the shelves. The dwarves, Tauriel, Firiel, and the children all looked up. What on Earth was that? The gasps and screams of the townspeople poured in through the windows of the shack. Bard's children huddled together, Tilda clinging to her doll. Firiel tucked in closer to Fili as the others all looked around. Outside, there came great bursts of wind, like a hurricane, pulsing through the air and rocking the home further.

"What is that?" she whispered.

Fili looked down, and his heart began to ache at the fear in her eyes. He could not say it, only hold her closer. They were doomed. Bofur, however, was inclined to answer.

"Smaug."

* * *

**AN: **And here ends DOS. This time, I do reach a most unfortunate hiatus until TABA (which I am not prepared for at all, and it may kill me, which would be the only known reason I would not finish this fic). Thanks again everyone for all your loving support. Please know that I have already decided to continue my story long after the end of the hobbit. Because this relationship still has soon serious, aging-related bugs that I intend to work out. Which means more questing and/or some serious elf butt-kissing! Yay! Special thanks to all those who took the time to leave me a review to let me know how I'm doing. You guys are super awesome, and I am so excited to continue hearing from you as I continue this story. In the meantime my lovelies, take care. All my love.


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